Various Stories
by natales2017
Summary: These are stories from a book written by Maria N. Lang. All rights reserved for her.


**Aphrodax**

Muffled, exhausted moans had become an everyday backdrop, the same way the muted sound of never-stopping traffic was for those living in the city. Each individual cell was soundproofed, but with so many needed, it had been a rush job and the consequences were readily heard. The noise was overwhelming in the actual pens, past the glass doors and padded concrete walls.

Jacqueline pulled the corner of her lower lip in between her teeth and reached up to readjust her glasses with her middle finger. A few years ago, she had used that same tactic to signal students when it was time to shut up, but it had since become habit. People did not notice being given the finger as much when she did it under the pretense of lifting her glasses further up her nose.

"How many hours, so far?" Her voice was neutral, and any sign that they were dealing with human subjects was wiped clean.

"Seventeen, miss James," said the male technician with the responsibility for this particular pen.

"Any of them had to be pulled yet?"

"Two, miss James. The remaining eight are holding up well."

She nodded, and made a note of the pen's status on her PDA. Before nodding a mixture of well done and goodbye to the technician, she pushed a loose, raven black hair out of her face. Despite the tight ponytail regulation demanded, a few hairs always seemed to make it their day's job to annoy her.

Jacqueline walked further down the unadorned, concrete hallway, her stiletto heels clacking sharply against the cement floor. The next technician was a woman, and she was clearly less comfortable with the situation than the previous man. Jacqueline smiled, half to herself, half to the woman. The new people always had to get used to things.

"How many hours?"

"Twelve, miss James," said the woman. She swallowed, and looked on the cusp of adding something, but it seemed her courage failed her.

"Any of them had to be removed from the trial yet?"

"Three, miss James," said the woman. She swallowed again, a light sweat having broken out on her forehead.

"Early. Not a good sign, that." Jacqueline noted the numbers down in her PDA with a dissatisfied curl of her lips. She glanced to the technician again, offering what she hoped was an encouraging smile. It was fake, of course, but she did not want to go through the hiring process again any time soon. "You want to say something," said Jacqueline, glancing to the woman's name tag. "...Nina. Go ahead."

"Miss James, is what we're doing here- Is it... Legal? Is it ethical? I know they sign a contract and everything, but it seems... I mean, we've already had to remove three, and one of them seemed almost comatose from overstimulation. I don't think it's safe."

Jacqueline nodded her way through the woman's words with a polite smile, though she was inwardly picturing grabbing her collar and screaming in her face. This complaint happened every time a new overseer joined the experiment. She glanced left to see the technician she had just spoken to smile a bit in recognition, then looked back to Nina. The two seemed about the same height. At least she did not have to look up at this particular employee.

"Nina," she said, adjusting her glasses out of habit. "This is perfectly legal research. We have state approval, and as for the ethics of it, it's simple. We don't force any of the subjects to go through this. We offer it as a way to make money - very good money - and that's it. They sign on the dotted line. No one has suffered lasting consequences as of yet."

"But the comatose one-"

"No -lasting- consequences, Nina. Sure, she might be a bit, well, unreachable for a few weeks, but she'll get over it, and she'll walk out of here with more money than she'd be able to make in a year of regular work. Everybody wins."

"Alright," said the technician, though she did not sound convinced.

Jacqueline knew that she would have to have this conversation again, but that was not unusual. Everyone came around eventually. She put a hopefully reassuring hand on Nina's shoulder, and then moved on to the third of the five pens.

Each pen was in a various stage of its two-day cycle. The ones in the latter stages both had less than five subjects left, but even that was encouraging. When the experiments started six months ago, not a single subject lasted more than six hours. Gradual changes and improvements to the drug had changed that, and she felt they were now very close to having the first subject go through a full 48 hours of non-stop stimulation.

That was only the first goal, of course. The second was to further modify what would become Aphrodax so that it had at least a 99% success rate. Jacqueline had never really been told why the state wanted this drug perfected and produced, but the position as head of the project paid astronomically, and she had not seen anyone hurt by the project. And, really, what could a drug that aided in female sexual stimulation and endurance hurt?

She was more concerned about the part of the trial that she was not in control of or even privy to. She had always released her subjects when it was time, and when she was sure that they were well again. The other half of the experiment had taken in just as many subjects as she, but not released a single one of them. And when she asked, all she got were looks and tightly sealed lips. No one was willing to talk. It was more secretive than the national bank's printing press.

She had, after a while, launched a formal inquiry to at least find out what was happening to the subjects. She was told, after weeks of delay and dragging of feet, that the subjects of the other part of the trial were going through longer experiments. They were not done after a month, like her crop was. Their trials were from six months and up.

Of course, there was one draconian part of her contract. Jacqueline figured that it was simply a rather unorthodox method of ensuring that she did her work well, but it was still unsettling. When the drug was considered complete or near-complete, she was to undergo treatment as well. It was for this reason that she involved herself so much in the day to day business of the trials. It was for this reason that she worked so hard to create as problem-free a drug as possible. The contract did its job, she thought with a smile as she returned to her office.

The PDA was locked inside a reinforced drawer, and she returned to emails and updating her records and daily report. The higher-ups had been pushing for progress lately, and she was happy to be able to provide it. Perhaps not entirely as fast as they wanted, but progress nonetheless. Today, she decided, she was going to put forth the somewhat bold suggestion that the first subject would make it through the 48-hour stress-test period of stimulation in five to six days.

The email was barely sent before she received a near-ecstatic response from the government controller of the project. Developing Aphrodax had been anything but cheap up until now, and the current administration did not have very long left of its term. They wanted results, too. For some unknown reason.

Later in the day, though, a much less cheerful mail ticked in. The controller, Peter, had talked with his own superiors, and they seemed to have taken the news that the first subject would be successful soon as an indication that the drug was far nearer completion than it was. They wanted Jacqueline to go through the trial herself in but a week's time. She could feel cold anxiety tie into a lump in her chest, and then slowly drop down into her stomach as she read, and then re-read the mail. A week.

The head of the partner trial, the one she had no idea what was doing, was going to come and check in on her as well, during the experiment. She was not exactly ecstatic that she was going to be some sort of exhibition, but what was two days strapped to a reclined chair in a near-constant orgasmic state to the millions she would be paid for a successful project? Jacqueline set her jaw, and finished up the day's administration as quickly as she could. However questionable their methods, these people sure knew how to light a fire under their workers. It was her ass on the line, now.

The last week had passed in a blur as Jacqueline worked both herself and her staff half to death to prepare the trial for her undergoing it. She had made more than a few threats involving firing people and potential lawsuits them to get the staff to work as hard as she needed them to. There were still problems with the drug, even with the first woman moaning and eventually writhing and twitching her way through two days of orgasm right on schedule.

One of the chief problems was the susceptibility to suggestion and pheromones that the drug still gave those who took it. Jacqueline had put every single member of staff under contract, oath and threat not to reveal that weakness as the day of her own trial came nearer.

Contrary to the regular subjects, she had had a single room set aside for her own trial, and had made doubly sure that it was well-padded and not open to everyone who just happened to walk past. She did not need any more embarrassment from this than she was already going to be subjected to. At least the strain of Aphrodax that left the subjects catatonic seemed to have been worked out, so she felt less worried that she might slip into a week-long coma.

Even so, as she left her office on that final night, she felt much like the schoolgirl waiting outside the door to take an oral test she had once been. Sleeping was difficult, and she had little appetite. At the same time, she knew that without proper rest and energy, she was going to fail. Failure to make the entire 48 hours would not just be catastrophic for her employers, it would be catastrophic for her. It would mean that she would be out of commission, and that someone else might have to be hired to take her job. No, it -had- to work.

It was with this determination that she shed her lab coat, jeans, shirt, socks, panties and bra in the one of the complex's changing rooms. In five minutes, she would be strapped into what she desperately hoped would be nothing more than two full days of mind-numbing, almost agonizing pleasure.

The science was right and the trials were encouraging. And still, as she padded silently through the cold hallway, feeling as if the bare concrete floor was freezing, she visibly shook with anxiety. The white bathrobe hid her modestly curvy form well enough, and when she had cast a vain glance in a mirror, it seemed like it brought out the blue in her eyes. Maybe that was just because the glasses had to be left in her locker.

Jacqueline tried to smile to herself as she neared the prepared trial-room, spying Nina, who would help her get strapped in for the test period. The young technician had gotten considerably more comfortable with the program in the past week, especially after the news that Jacqueline would undergo the trial herself had spread. The five and a half-foot brunette seemed positively cheery as she nodded to her boss and opened the door to the small, uninspiring concrete box of a room.

The room was about 4 meters per side, with one wall taken up by equipment meant to administer the drug, and keep a watch over Jacqueline's vitals and mental state as the trial progressed. Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, she readied herself. She knew that her worries would disappear pretty soon after the trial started, but that did nothing to calm her right now.

Finally, after Nina cleared her throat politely, Jacqueline reached up to push the robe from her shoulders. The large window next to the door into the room had been blinded, so no one but those with the proper code could look in. Other than the technician, who would leave her alone once she was sure the trial was started properly, she at least had some measure of dignity.

Jacqueline planted her butt on the grey, fake leather of the inclining chair. They had been bought from various rundown dentist's offices, and she could not deny that amid the pulsing, almost painful anxiety in her stomach, she felt a cold void of fear that she recognized as the same she felt during a visit to the dentist.

Licking her lips, she lifted her legs up into the chair, and leaned back against the headrest. Nina said something formulaic that she asked all the subjects, something about being comfortable, if she had noticed any worrying, medically relevant signs since agreeing to the trial. Jacqueline dismissed all the questions with vague affirming or denying murmurs, closing her eyes.

At last, Nina seemed to be satisfied with the answers, and she moved on to the real deal. The small plastic cup of water, and two white, innocent-looking pill capsules that were to be swallowed. One pill equaled one day of hypersensitivity and enhanced endurance, two pills equaled two days, and so on. Jacqueline swallowed the two pills without hesitation, sensing a brief note of cherry taste as the water took the pills with it.

"The pills aren't meant to taste like cherry, are they?"

"A few subjects have reported that they did, miss James. We figured it was just down to individual genetic or hormonal makeup," said Nina.

Jacqueline nodded, settling back into the chair. Most of all, she wanted to run away right now. The pill should be safe enough. The worst reaction anyone had ever had was several months ago, and even that had normalized after three and a half weeks. There was nothing to worry about, not really. Not at length. She nodded to Nina.

The technician nodded back, beginning the strapping in process. Cloth bands first, then leather, and finally the sturdy metal clamps, ensuring that her ankles, wrists and neck stayed in place. The rest of her was free to move and, more likely, thrash about as she willed. Nina checked the restraints one final time, and then picked up the rest of the equipment.

Two circular, flat vibration pads were placed one over each of Jacqueline's nipples and then taped in place. They were followed up by a store-bought, almost neon purple G-spot vibrator. The thing was curved pleasantly, and had a second extrusion meant to reach up and vibrate against her clit with multiple, gyrating, soft nubs. This was, instead, held in place with a blocking unit mounted against the inclining chair, and two soft plastic braces that encircled Jacqueline's thighs.

Nina turned to the console against the wall, pressed three buttons in quick succession, each button turning on one device, causing Jacqueline to exhale audibly. The buzzing of the vibrators drowned out what little background noise there was in the complex, and the last thing she heard before the door closed was Nina's goodbye and the odd, slightly worrying wish of good luck.

Did she catch a content smirk from the technician before the door was closed? Jacqueline was uncertain, but she was sure that the rules specifically bade the technicians be courteous and completely neutral during any and all interactions with the subjects. The rules applied doubly so when it came to the head of the project, surely?

The first jolt made her tense her stomach, close her eyes and exhale in a near-hiss. She had been very aware of the vibrators for the first five minutes, yes, but the pills had not yet taken effect at that point. They were now, she realized. She also realized that for all her attempts to imagine what the subjects went through, she had failed entirely. It would get far more intense than this first, shivering bolt of pleasure.

The next sensation was not so much a jolt but a feeling that continued on for several seconds. Jacqueline's eyebrows lowered, and for a moment she almost looked in pain, then her lips burst open and she let out a needy moan, her toes uncurling and her body relaxing. She had -definitely- underestimated the strength of the drug they were creating. Or maybe the vibrator's settings.

Jacqueline's eyes began to roll up before she could close her eyelids, her chest tightening as she took a shivering breath, her fingers gripping with a strength she did not know she had around the armrests of the chair. Her toes curled, and her entire body tensed until it burned, then relaxed and tensed again as hard, unforgiving waves of almost incomprehensible power rolled through her. At first, it was simply pleasure, but after a short eternity that she could not measure in time, experience had numbed her enough that her dulled, shocked mind could understand what was running through her as pleasure.

She clamped down around the vibrator, her twitching sex grinding down hard, rubbing the vibrator against her even more insistently. It was not until now that she had been able to exhale, and when she did, it came out as a long, utterly perverted moan of pleasure. Her eyes watered as she opened them and stared up at the neon light set into the flat concrete ceiling, her breathing finally catching up, going in and out in synch with the punishing waves of tense pleasure going through her.

Jacqueline let out another deep, shaking moan, closing her eyes as the first crashing waves of orgasm flooded through her system. She would have given herself to it, but her body would not let up. It was building up for another orgasm even as she gasped and moaned her way through the first one. What would have been a cry for help simply came out as a hissing, moaning sigh as her mind dove into the warm haze of undeniable pleasure.

"How long has she been in there?"

"About five hours, ma'am," said Nina to the corporate-looking blonde observing Jacqueline through the no longer blinded glass.

The former project head was thrashing wildly in her bindings, her chest heaving desperately to keep up with the pleasure that whipped through every fiber of her being. The blonde woman glanced over her shoulder and two tall, well-built female bodyguards, nodding to one.

"Marilyn, go in and see to her."

The large woman nodded, stepping out of the shadows and toward the door. Nina glanced uncertainly from the bodyguard woman to the blonde, then back again. She looked down at the signed contract in her hand, and then back up. Her life was changing for the better in one stroke, but she still felt some hesitation about doing this to Jacqueline. The old project head had always been kind and understanding.

"Is this- Is this proper? The right thing to do?" Nina fiddled with the contract, glancing into the blonde's piercing blue eyes.

"Proper?" The blonde chuckled coldly. "Your old boss is simply the first subject of the next step in the drug's preparation. She signed on to see this through, and she will."

The bodyguard punched in the six-digit key, and the door to Jacqueline's room opened inwards. A cocktail of scent and sound immediately flooded out into the hallway abandoned by all but the corporate blonde, her remaining bodyguard, and Nina. The scent of arousal was clear, as was sweat and perfume. It was all punctuated by exhilarating, quivering moans. Everything calm and collected was gone from Jacqueline. Nina swallowed, feeling less certain that she had made the right choice by the second.

"What dose did you give her?" The blonde was ready with a pen hovering over a piece of paper, looking at Nina with a penetrating gaze.

"The- What you said. Enough for five years," said Nina, casting a glance into the room where the bodyguard was closing the door. "What is the next stage of the experiment, exactly?"

"You'll see when we're done, miss Morris. For now, come with me."

Nina nodded, swallowed one last time as she glanced back at Jacqueline and the bodyguard. In an instant, the glass was blinded again, and the moans were muffled. She wondered what her old boss would be subjected to. It did not sound deadly, but it did not sound all that nice, either.

As soon as Marilyn was certain that she was no longer being observed, she changed character completely, abandoning the act of carefully letting herself into Jacqueline's room. Smirking, she walked to the console and flicked off the three buttons that had kept the twenty-eight year old scientist locked in punishing, recurring waves of exhausting pleasure.

It seemed that there was a certain level of afterglow to get through, and a certain cooldown period before Jacqueline would truly regain the full capabilities of her normally sharp and educated mind. This suited Marilyn quite well, the six and a half-foot, sculpted brunette pressing a button on the inclining chair that split it down the middle, spreading Jacqueline's legs to the sides.

Marilyn recalled a different life six months ago. Desperate months of job-hunting and dancing while regretting her creative writing and philosophy focus during college. This experiment had been a last resort. She had not known what it would bring, but she no longer cared. She had been conditioned, trained and medicated to detach from her old life, instead accepting what she now was; a slave mistress for Davis-Webb, the corporation masquerading as a government agency to lend legitimacy to these trials.

She had never been in doubt about her sexual identity before the trials, and she was not in doubt now, either. She had changed, yes, but she had never perceived the change. Simply woken up one morning in her cell, and realized that where she had dreaded her promised future the night before, she now relished it. She could not wait for it. And now, finally let loose to have fun while serving her superiors, she was determined to do a good job. The drug had progressed to the desired state, and she had been hand-picked as the most suitable candidate to test just how susceptible those under the effects of Aphrodax were to suggestion and pheromones.

Of course, to really gauge the effect, she would have to do the most efficient sort of bonding. Luckily, she had been engineered to be perfect at just this sort of thing, the past months in the trial having changed her physically in two ways. One, she exuded strong, aphrodisiac pheromones that those on Aphrodax were particularly vulnerable to, and second, she had grown a thick, one-foot cock with accompanying apple-sized balls.

Jacqueline was still recovering from the hour-long, almost permanently rolling orgasm, her head lolled lightly to one side and her lips parted. She had registered that her legs felt more spread, but she was still only consciously present in part, jolting occasionally with the pleasure of one of the vibrators moving just slightly. One jolt became a rush of pleasure that tingled out into nothing as the large, purple g-spot vibrator was removed. She tried to grind her legs together, but instead found her thighs pushing against someone's canvas trousers.

It took few seconds for that fact to translate properly in her mind. And even when it did, it was only a sort of weak notion or suggestion that she look down. Her head felt heavy, or her neck weak. She was not sure which, but it was a struggle to refocus her eyes to see what was going on. A large, well-built brunette stood between her legs, smiling deviously. Just as Jacqueline was looking, the six and a half foot woman unzipped her pants and pushed black boxers down to reveal a fat, plump cockshaft and an equally well-developed nutsack.

She swallowed, and realized that her throat was dry as a desert. With a faint grimace, she swallowed again, croaked something unintelligible, and then wet her lips.

"Hh- Who... Are you?"

Marilyn simply kept smiling down at the weak, restrained former project leader. She was to be relegated to example, to be dragged around along with them when they checked in on this and other research projects as an example of what would happen if one disobeyed. Jacqueline, of course, had not actually disobeyed. She had simply been unfortunate enough to be the person in charge of the Aphrodax project.

Marilyn really did not care. That was company business, not her business. She wrapped one hand halfway around her fat shaft just below the head, and began lazily stroking, moving up closer between the scientist's legs, until she was practically pressing her balls against Jacqueline's cunt.

"I'm Marilyn, the new center of your universe," she said, smirking smugly.

"Wh... What?"

The large bodyguard let her now slowly growing, weighty shaft rest against the exhausted researcher's stomach, moving closer still. It was clear that she would, if she hilted, go more than deep enough to plant the seed that would cement the bonding. Even now, the scentless pheromone was mixing with the air in the room and being inhaled by the scientist, lowering her inhibitions and mental resistance completely.

In an hour, she would be entirely bonded to Marilyn, for the rest of her life. The large woman smiled again, as much at herself as at the young researcher. She pulled back, and hammered forward into Jacqueline's weakened, deeply vulnerable body, causing the woman to thrash, her teeth gritting. Even so, it was obvious that she could not contain the moans, her body entirely in the thrall of the drug she had spent the last half a year designing to be used on others.

Dark spots danced in front of Jacqueline's eyes. She wanted to scream as that fat, steely shaft stuffed into her. She wanted to break free and crawl into a corner, as far away from this woman as she could, when the large cockhead crashed against her cervix, bruising it brutally. Her body betrayed her. It was all she could do to try and struggle against the waves of pleasure she felt not just from the penetration, but from merely being around this sculpted creature. She felt as if her thoughts of escape were slippery, uncertain things that she had to grasp at constantly to keep near.

She looked up into Marilyn's eyes, and the thoughts disappeared, replaced by a spreading, tingling warmth in her chest, arms and tummy. She had been in love before, and this was much like it. But it was more, too. She -needed- Marilyn close. She desperately, deeply needed the hard rhythm of thrusts now being lavished on her. When the bodyguard shoved her fat fuckshaft in as deep as she could, incessantly pushing against the scientist's cervix, she could only lean her head back and let out conflicted, gasping moans of pleasure-pain.

And then, the last bit of pain was washed away by pheromone infatuation. It was as if the butterflies dissipated from her stomach, leaving only pulsing, exhaustingly powerful pleasure behind as the bodyguard managed to force herself into Jacqueline's womb, a satisfied grunt joining the almost wheezing, teary researcher's sounds.

Jacqueline felt the onset of the first orgasm since the vibrators had been turned off very clearly, the first swift, coaxing contractions and tensions welcomed. She swallowed, then opened her lips slightly again, her breath growing faster and then stopping entirely as she shook and writhed in the throes and heat of orgasm, barely even noticing that Marilyn had started moving again, this time pistoning in and out, past her cervix, using her womb as a sort of masturbatory aid. Using her as one, really. She loved it, her fingers gripping the armrest once again as bliss overtook her, milking the other woman's fat shaft heavily.

The second orgasm did not come immediately after the first this time, not like it had with the vibrators. Jacqueline preferred it that way, preferred the brief moments of clarity that allowed her to feel her partner's sturdy form crashing heavily against hers and hear the hard sounds of their bodies colliding. She would have reached up to wrap her arms around Marilyn in that moment if the restraints had not prevented it.

The hard fucking continued for several minute, with Jacqueline teetering on the frustrating edge of orgasm for most of it. For some reason, though, she found herself unable to climax. It was as if a barrier had been erected, and she was not sure what to make of it at first. As Marilyn's insistent pounding went on, though, she started to feel a minuscule change, as if each thrust brought her a little closer.

When the bodyguard's hands took a hold of Jacqueline's waist, she felt a surge of near-orgasmic pleasure run through her, reinforced as she looked up at Marilyn. At her new love. She could see mechanical concentration on the large woman's face, covered as it was in a thin sheen of slowly-beading sweat.

And then, Jacqueline understood. When Marilyn's thrusts became erratic, punishing, and when she jackhammered in one last time, Jacqueline understood. Beneath the boiling, seething pleasure, she knew now what was going on. Her body had reacted to their union. Damming the flood of pleasure until the bodyguard could join in. It made sense, and felt right for that short moment of clarity she enjoyed before gasping, her tight cunt constricting and milking rhythmically in orgasm.

The milking was unnecessary, the toned bodyguard breathing so heavily as to almost grunt, then stopping her breathing entirely for a long moment as the growing, rhythmic waves of pleasure sped up, and then exploded in the heavy, immediate bursts of orgasmic ecstasy. Marilyn half-collapsed, gasping for breath, as the first thickly-flowing, raging burst of seed splattered into the researcher's womb.

The next creamy, womb-flooding load followed immediately after, the intensely pumping cockshaft squeezing fat strand after fat strand out, Jacqueline's stomach beginning to bulge lightly, growing just a little bit with each load, until the pudding-y spunk splurted lewdly out of her around Marilyn's fat fuck-girth, dribbling down over the bodyguard's emptying balls and then to the floor.

A minute passed, with the both of them gasping, slowly moving twitching limbs around, the bodyguard even going so far as to reach up and move a few rogue strands of hair out of Jacqueline's face.

"M...h- Miss?"

"Later, Jacqueline. Later," said the bodyguard.

Jacqueline nodded and laid back, her back arching slightly, a high-pitched gasp escaping her as the woman who was her new world set the three vibrators in place again. She felt warm fingers caress across her cheek briefly, then heard a few steps. Three buttons were pressed, and then she was launched back into the sweet hell of pleasure. She felt comfortable that she could stand it, now, knowing that someone worth fighting through it for was waiting. She did not even notice the bodyguard quietly leaving the room.

The two bodyguards, the blonde woman and Nina were once again observing Jacqueline through the one-way window. It had been forty seven hours and fifty eight minutes. The former project leader was clearly near-maddened with pleasure, not even capable of the writhing and thrashing she had been earlier, any longer. The silence dragged on as the four women observed Jacqueline. Then, there was a muted beep.

One of the bodyguards, Marilyn, punched the code into the panel next to the door, opened it, and walked in. She turned the vibrators off with three swift button presses, and then moved to the slightly twitching, heaving woman on the chair. Leaning down over Jacqueline's form, Marilyn put a palm on the researcher's forehead.

That simple gesture seemed to spark something in the scientist, her head angling a little to the side, eyelids opening a little. Marilyn could see how eyes that had long since rolled up came back down, struggled to focus, and then gave up.

"Mh... Miss?" was all Jacqueline could manage to say.

"I'm here," said Marilyn, finding herself oddly connected to this woman.

She wondered for a moment if the bonding went both ways, but dismissed the notion, turning her attention back to Jacqueline. The woman's eye had once again rolled back up, and she was shivering. Probably from exhaustion. But, at least, she was not comatose. Marilyn waved towards the open door, and Nina stepped in, handed her a blanket, and quickly left again. The bodyguard wrapped her new bondmate in the spartan fabric, and then put a hand back on the scientist's forehead.

"She'll be fine," said Marilyn over her shoulder.

"Two days for her to recover, then I expect her to make the rounds with us. Her desperation for that cock of yours should make everyone a lot more eager to do their work on time, when they realize what we can turn them into."

 **A Twisted Pact**

She kicked a cloud of pebbles and dust into the dying embers.

"Damn them and their happiness," said Summer.

The remnants of the large bonfire wavered, but continued to glow red despite the onslaught of debris she had slowly been covering it with for the last several minutes. The ritual jumping over the fire was long since complete, and the clan dinner was ending as well. People were beginning to focus more on drinking than eating, and she had spotted the shades of several couples sneaking away already.

The near-overwhelming warmth of the dimming fire seemed to clear the air of any scent of spring, vomit, or food. All she could smell was the fire. The burning wood, the ash, the dry non-smell of the dust. She had kicked up enough that she even tasted it, now, spittle mixing to form an uncomfortable layer of mud in her mouth.

"Damn 'em," she whispered.

Summer smoothed down her magenta skirt, then spent a few seconds on the futile effort it was to try and brush her black top clear of dust. None of them had picked her. Why? Just because she was the old village witch's apprentice. They were scared.

There was a burst of raucous laughter from beyond the closest house. The village square laid there, and she knew it would still be brimming with everyone she knew. Her father, her mother, her brother, the witch, and everyone else from the clan. And right now, she wanted nothing to do with them. Watching their shadows flicker against the well-trodden ground made her grind her molars. Twenty three years of nothing. Twenty three is nothing, her mother would have said.

Summer turned her gaze away from the corner of the wooden house, willing herself to forget the quietly seething wish that an ember would land in the thatched roof. Her very own, two-room house laid but a hundred steps away from the dead fire and all the reminders of yet another disappointment. Fuck them.

She turned around and trudged back to her home, passing several other small homes on the way. The warmth of the dying fire now gone, she reached up to rub her bare elbows. The top was fine as long as she was near a fire. She spat dust-spittle mud on the ground, her mouth watering as the scent of the roasted pig finally reached her nostrils. She had not eaten since lunch, but she was not going to go anywhere near the drunk, hundred-strong group.

Her house was relatively new. Some five years. It had been finished two days after she had started as the witch's apprentice. Sorceress, she corrected herself. She was a sorceress' apprentice. The village just called them witches, but it had nothing to do with bewitching loggers and caressing oversized spiders. She was making real progress. Beginning to explore other worlds, in a sense.

The old witch had begun to bring her along on those magic-fuelled journeys of the mind. She knew of worlds far beyond this. Planes where the inhabitants breathed fire, swam in lava, and lived in obsidian caves. Deserts made of ash, with intermittent hell-fortresses where undying warlords schemed over how to rule the realm, and eventually all creation. And here she was, alone yet again. Without a suitable man willing to be her husband. Were there any suitable men in the clan, anyway? They were all doomed to be simpletons.

Summer stopped, her palm against the cool, smooth central plank that made up her front door. It was dark, the light of the fires in the village square far behind her. She could smell straw, forgotten lunches, and dust. Cows mooed in the background. Suddenly, she could not hold back a laugh that quickly turned from amusement to shaking with sadness. She cut it off, glancing about self-consciously.

It was pathetic. She could mold the winds of magic to her will. She was learning to, at least. And here she was. Living in a small house in a backwards village in the country. She could go to the nearest city, ensnare a nobleman and live happy for the rest of her days, without worry or the need to ever see these simpletons again.

With a faint sigh, she pushed the door to her dark living room open. The truth was, in spite of all her complaining, she liked living out here. The peace, the people she knew, it was all comfortable. Perhaps too comfortable, but she had never aspired to greatness. She had no desire to be a heroine. All she wanted was a partner to take care of her needs, a partner whose needs she might take care of as well. She would do it gladly. Twenty three years of life had allowed her to build up plenty of fantasy material to live out with the lucky someone. But there was no lucky someone in the entire clan village.

Summer stepped inside and closed the door behind her. For a moment the dry, ever so slightly mouldy smell of very old furniture assaulted her senses. She reached a hand out palm up and whispered a word.

"Hythiss."

Soft light began to emanate from some indeterminate point floating a few inches above her opened hand. It grew stronger and stronger over tens of seconds, allowing her eyes time to adjust. Two comfortable, faded green armchairs were pushed up against the wall opposite the door. The faint smell came from those, but she loved them too much to throw them out. There was a small table in front of the two chairs.

The sheer ground was covered in a faded, brown and pale yellow carpet. To her left, behind a curtain, was her bed. To her right, through a doorway in a thin wall, was the kitchen and bathroom. Much to the dismay of the people building the house, she had insisted on a slightly more advanced setup than what was in most of the other houses. She had a pipe running from inside her house and out to a small hole in the ground behind and under some low bushes.

There was a small, iron oven, a low table with a bowl on it that passed for a sink, and several drawers. And in the corner, there was an elongated, deep bathtub. It was her joy in the world, other than books and exploring the unknown with her mentor. She wanted nothing more than to dive into a warm bath with a lover in hand right now, but while she could take care of the warm water, the lover was harder.

There was, of course, one possibility that the old witch had been quite open about using herself. She had not been able to find a husband either. Eventually, she had not wanted to. For those who understood how to make the right bargains and maintain control, there was far more pleasure to be gained from summoning and controlling various creatures. Summer had never asked for more information than that, and the witch had never spoken of it again.

She was certain she had a book about the more sordid sides of magic, though. While it was not talked about in public, one of the things magic-wielders were most often approached about in the smaller villages and communities was love. Love, and matters more carnal. It quickly instilled a far more casual relationship with perversion in the witches and wizards than what general society could stomach.

Summer walked over to her over-stacked, solitary bookshelf. It served as a sort of first line of defense between the living room and the small half-enclosed area of her bedroom. From the top shelf, all the way in the corner near where the ceiling and wall met, she pulled an old and clearly very well-used book out. It was close to falling apart, several pages sliding halfway out before she caught them and stuffed them back into the seemingly ordinary-looking volume.

With the book in hand, she went to sit in one of the comfortable armchairs. The index was worn, but still readable. P. Pleasure. Pleasure Demons. Succubus. She paged her way to the entry, stuck in an unassuming position in the latter half of the book. She knew what this demon was most often used for, though. Control, and self-satisfaction. It was capable of exerting not just sexual, but mental control over those it was directed at by the summoner. The sexual control came mostly through its ability to morph and transform at will.

In its natural state, the creature had the appearance of a slender, toned woman. The book indicated her to be around six feet tall. The standard specimen had tousled, pitch-black hair, slightly ruddy skin, and intense, blazing eyes. Perhaps most alarming, though, were the swirled goats horns erupting on either side of its forehead.

It seemed its preferred weapon was a whip. It had no feet, but rather large, cloven hooves. Something that resembled thick fur also seemed to begin halfway up its shins. Every single succubus was naturally female, if a being such as this could ever be said to have anything to do with nature. Its gender usually mattered little, though, as their ability to morph their bodies almost limitlessly made them whatever they needed to be, sexually. Their bodies always retained their femininity, though.

Summer blinked, and realized that she had forgot to swallow for a while, spittle accumulating in her mouth. She looked up, out the window next to the door. Not a soul was out there. Everyone was either busy with the feast, or busy enjoying themselves with a new partner. She exhaled contemptuously, then pushed her hand towards the ceiling. The point of light floated from her grasp, instead nestling near the center of the room, illuminating it more evenly.

The succubus, apparently, was fond of changing whatever contract had been agreed on when it had the upper hand, when the summoner was lost in the throes of passion. More than a few magic-users had been lost to the depths of the infernal ash-realms that way. The succubi were not merely manipulative sex-demons, they were harvesters. They gathered souls for their masters and mistresses, souls that were then used to power foul magic, or simply to add to the power of this or that power of hell. Summer swallowed again.

She turned the page, and raised an eyebrow. Whoever had penned the tome had taken the time and space to write several paragraphs praising the sexual prowess of the succubus, as well as its sexual characteristics. It seemed to naturally, almost unnoticeably morph itself to the tastes of whoever it was with. Summer swallowed again as her eyes decisively skimmed over some very graphic illustrations of what succubus physical sexual characteristics could look like. She needed the instructions on summoning the thing, not an erotic story.

It was relatively simple, actually. A five-point star made of any one material. Salt was the usual agent. Inside, there had to be an unbroken circle of silver, which would serve as the actual, physical boundary for the demoness when she first entered the world and was, still, unbound by anything other than the duration of the summoning spell. Summer swallowed, and licked her lips. She had everything needed, and everything said about this demoness seemed to be exactly what she felt like she needed tonight.

It did not take her long to draw the star with thin lines of salt on top of her rough carpet. She was more careful with the silver circle in the center, seeing as that was the key if the summoning was successful.

Observing her work for a moment, she opened and closed her hands. She could feel a tingle in her chest and the pit of her stomach. She had summoned foreign entities before, but always with her mentor right there, ready to step in and control the situation. But what harm could it really do? A succubus was not a greater demon. It was relatively low in the rungs of hell, all things told. A line worker, more or less. She breathed in deeply through her nose, closed her eyes for a few seconds, and then started chanting.

Summoning spells were not meant for battle, they were meant for quiet, careful studies. Nothing was allowed to go wrong, or the summoner might quickly have an angry, otherworldly visitor on his or her hands. This meant that even a simple, relatively quick summoning spell took well over ten minutes just to set up. Ward upon ward, protective barrier upon shield, upon reinforced barrier. Layers of magical defense set in place just in case. The actual summoning was not so much a spell as a set of ancient, calling words designed to tear a small hole in reality and pull another entity in through the hole.

They were harsh, hacking words of power. Primal urgings almost spat more than spoken, sing-song words of a horrible language that sickened the speaker. It was only with great self-control that sorceresses and sorcerers made their way through the labyrinthine paths that these short recitations presented. Summer was no different, though she felt like vomiting halfway through.

When the last word bubbled from her lips, she sank to her knees, her eyes closed as she breathed steadily, trying to hold back the retching. The raw evil of the words were revolting enough to provoke such a reaction, but she had not expected the sheer, surreal feeling of wrongness that emanated from the air above the center of the silver circle.

A second source of light formed there, but it quickly grew from reddish point to burning hellflame, and then expanded further to a portal. And through it, she glimpsed endless, deadened plains of ash. The shimmering surface that touched another world shifted, moving impossibly fast until it targeted a being that looked like an exact copy of the image she had seen in a book. The creature smiled self-confidently, and stepped toward the portal.

If Summer had felt wrong before, what she felt now could only be described as a momentarily removal of all good in her and the world. It felt that way, at least. The evil presence that burst through the portal was palpable. She felt like thick, oozing slime layered all over her. Her mouth dried, and the well-known scent of dry mould was replaced by sweat, and ash, and sex. The hooved creature stepped through, and its bronze, fiery eyes met with Summer's grey-blues. She looked away in shame, still struggling not to vomit, on her knees in front of this thing.

The portal snapped shut, and the overwhelming evil dissipated. The need to vomit passed slowly, and she put a hand against the floor, her fingers spread. Taking a deep breath, Summer looked over the creature again. She was naked. The only manufactured thing she had was the charcoal black whip. It was also the only rough thing about her. Everything else was smooth, and pretty, and dangerously seductive. Somehow, her faintly reddish skin did not disrupt this image, it only made her more alluring.

Summer stood, running her hands over her black top. She straightened her back, shook her hair loose from its weak restraints. Blonde tresses spilled down to her shoulders. She found it fitting, in a sense. Black-haired demon, blonde sorceress.

"What is your name, demon?" Summer did her best to sound commanding and in control. She did not feel like she did a very good job, and the light sneer she detected from the demoness confirmed her fear.

"You would not be able to pronounce it," said the demon. She looked around the place she had arrived in, and judging by her slightly narrowed eyes, was not impressed. "But you may call me Eliza."

"Eliza," said Summer. She swallowed. "I require your servitude for tonight."

"I see, mistress," said Eliza, her voice mockingly servile. "What might this one serve with? Sexual prowess? Power in exchange for your soul? Control of an enemy or loved one's mind? Perhaps you need some of my juices for a love potion?"

Summer raised an eyebrow at the latter, but shook her head. "No, I need... The first thing you suggested. Your sexual prowess."

The succubus smiled, whatever infernal powers she possessed apparently having told her this already. The smile was knowing, and Summer already hated it.

"And what do you offer in return?"

"My servitude for a full day and night, when I am no longer for this world," said Summer. It was not exactly the wording she had been taught, but she felt it encompassed things better.

"No longer for this world. Humph." The succubus appeared to think for a moment, eyes narrowing as she appraised the small, five-and-a-half-foot woman she was meant to serve. For a moment, her expression lit up, then her smile deepened. "Very well. I will have your servitude, will and body when you are no longer for this world. In exchange, you will sample my sexual skills."

Summer nodded. This was the part she hated most about summoning. The contract, the negotiation. The careful wording. A small misstep could be very costly, here. She was not sure that she had done everything entirely right, but on the other hand, she had not been dragged screaming into some otherworld yet, either. That, at least, was a good sign. The succubus looked around again, then gestured to the silvery circle around her.

"May I enter your home?"

"You may enter my home," said Summer.

Eliza rolled her shoulders, her heavy, form breasts wobbling slightly as she did so. She was oversexualized, though Summer could swear that they had been shrinking slowly while in her presence. It seemed the sentence in the book about succubi adapting to their summoner's preferences was true after all.

The demoness cracked her neck briefly, then stepped out of the circle. Her hoof made a deep imprint in the old, worn carpet that she stepped onto. A long, pointed tongue darted out of her mouth, running not just over her lips, but up to the tip of her nose. She turned halfway away from Summer, looking towards the kitchen and the bathtub.

As she did this, Summer sensed the smallest manipulation of the winds. At first, she did not understand what had been done, but when the demoness turned back to her with another of her self-satisfied, smug smiles on parade, things became clearer. Where the succubus had previously had a smooth, inviting little cunt, a heavy, lengthening cockshaft now sat. Beneath it, a heavy nutsack was rapidly filling out as well. The succubus shifted, spreading her legs a little as she let out a groan. She licked her lips again.

Summer's eyes were, for a moment, locked on the demon's crotch. She had wanted a husband to have fun with. She had not imagined that this demoness would be able to fulfill her desires quite this specifically. In fact, she did not recall having desires involving anyone or anything this well-endowed. The succubus' balls had grown to fist-size, and continued plumping up for a little while longer. The shaft had grown past arm thickness, and longer than a foot. She was more than just an impressive specimen, she was huge.

"That's more than enough," said Summer. The demoness did not react. "It's too much."

"Hmh? Oh," said Eliza.

The succubus waved a hand casually down at the hefty shaft, her long tongue pushing past her lips to wet them briefly.

"I'm quite fond of it as it is now."

"I don't care," said Summer. "Change it."

"I don't think I will," said Eliza. Her smile deepened and became dangerous.

"You will change it because I've told you to." Summer commanded as best she could, but it was obvious that something was amiss.

"Whoever taught you should have taught you better, sorceress," spat the demon. "No limits, nothing. I could kill you now, as long as I fucked you first. I could drag you to hell and make you promise to serve me for eternity. Your will is mine, you said."

"For a day!" Summer half-shouted the three words, backing away a little. The succubus was between her and the door. There was only the kitchen to flee into, if necessary.

"For a day. During which you will promise me everything, for eternity," said Eliza. She ran the back of the slender fingers of her right hand down her smoothly curving side, almost as if she was brushing her summoner's maligned destiny away like so much dust. "Though... I may keep you for a few decades before I hand your tired, fucked-out husk off."

Summer turned and stepped rapidly through the doorframe to the kitchen and bathroom. Mid-stride, as she was about to dart for the window next to the bathtub, her movement was arrested. There had been no crack of the demoness' whip, nor had she heard any magical words barked or whispered.

The only explanation was the succubus' will had become real. Demons were imbued with natural powers, after all. At-will paralyzation was the answer. She could not turn her head, but she heard the soft sound of hooves against carpet as the succubus moved up behind her. With her heart pounding and her eyes darting from side to side in an effort to catch a glimpse of the demon, she waited. It was all she could do.

Eliza's silken-soft fingers touched the side of her neck, first. The taller demoness bent down and breathed in through her nose audibly, her eyes half-closed.

"You're terrified, little Summer. Terrified, but... Interested, too."

The succubus' agile tongue snaked out of her mouth, and dragged up over the sorceress' neck, leaving a trail of reddish saliva filled with bubbles, in exchange for the dust and sweat that was removed.

"Intrigued, too. But all of it below the terror. You had hoped for a husband tonight, but didn't get one," said Eliza. She smiled to herself, gently caressing her fingertips just below the girl's jawline, until she reached Summer's chin. "Didn't get the one you wanted, anyway... You got me."

Summer shivered, and closed her eyes for a brief moment. She could not move anything other than her eyes and eyelids, but she could still feel, could still smell. And close up, the succubus smelled even stronger than when it had first appeared. But the scent slowly adapted, too, becoming more pleasant, more dry, more like roses for each breath she took. She could feel the demoness press up against her from behind, and shivered at Eliza's whisper in her ear just as much as at the feeling of another body against hers.

"Yes, little Summer," said Eliza. She leaned further forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the girl's cheek. "You're so in need of warmth and intimacy, that you're enjoying my presence. Even when you know what it means. You want my embrace, and my love."

Summer wanted to say no, to refuse. She closed her eyes while grinding her teeth, but she could not find it in herself to blurt out an answer. She could only keep breathing, each exhalation heavier than the previous one as the honeyed words sunk in. She was not even sure she wanted to say no, anymore.

"Mmngh," she said, shaking her head after a moment.

Where had the thoughts of giving in come from? Summer once again strained to see the dark-haired beauty nibbling and kissing her neck and cheek, and she realized what was going on. The succubus had power over the minds of mortals. Set free, she could use those powers on anyone, as she saw fit. That was what was happening, while she pretended simply to sample Summer's skin.

"I know... What you're doing," said Summer.

"But you can't stop it," said the succubus. She stopped caring for the sorceress' skin for a moment, taking a step halfway around the girl. "And in a minute, you won't want to."

Summer closed her eyes, a gurgling groan escaping her. The demoness' warmth was supplanting into her, and though she fought against it, she could not deny the scent of roses, sex and sweet seed was taking root. She would have ground her thighs against each other if she could. As it was, she just let out a light, stressed breath, once again sinking into uncertainty about whether she wanted this or not. The warmth, strength and security of the demoness was more than interesting, it induced a sort of pleasurable weakness in her. It made her wet.

She swallowed, trying to shake her head. The paralyzation made it impossible. "Nh- No..."

The succubus leaned in close. "Yes."

"By all that is... Nnmh, all that is... Holy," gasped Summer. She leaned her head back, her movements sluggish.

"Kneel for me," said the succubus.

She desperately wanted to. And at the same time, there was a tiny, logical voice in the back of her mind that shouted warnings. But what did that matter? The mere presence of this beautiful, wrong being next to her was satisfying. It gave her the warmth and intimacy she had craved for so long. She pushed the voice back, and turned slowly toward Eliza, craning her neck to look up at the demoness' bronze eyes.

"I... I don't..."

"You want to," said the succubus. Three of her silken fingers caressed down the girl's cheek.

"I..."

Summer exhaled with immense relief as she finally let her knees unlock. She sank down on the carpeted ground slowly, trailing her fingertips over the demon's reddish-hued skin as she went, occasionally unable to hold herself back from diving in for a kiss. She lingered only a moment at Eliza's large, ripe breasts, pressing her lips against the lower curve of one before the demon's hand on her head guided her further down.

Her self-restraint disappeared as she neared the succubus' bellybutton, diving in once again, kissing her way further and further down towards the demoness' crotch. The further she went, the more the scent of sweetened cum overpowered the rest of Eliza's presence. Until, at last, the warmth of the demon's body, the pink of her skin and the scent was all that was left in Summer's universe. That, and the slight wrinkle of skin where that elbow-thick shaft's hilt joined Eliza's pelvis.

Summer continued down, her chin dragging over the top of the half-hardened root of that delicious cock, until her lips just barely managed to press against the joining of skin with skin. She made use of both hands, then, the tender fingers of one lifting the succubus' shaft up so that it might better be serviced, the other hand's fingers spreading, feeling the pliable skin of the creature's balls slip between just a little before the firm, sloshing, heavy core of each cumfactory rested against her skin.

The succubus trailed a finger along the ridge of her right ear, looking down at her with an expression that almost seemed benevolent. "See, little Summer? This completes you far more than jumping over a fire with a man who will never understand your art. You're good at this. You were -made- for this."

She whimpered. The words hit the surface of her mind, and then sank into her subconsciousness. There was nothing she could do to stop it. They cemented the suggestion and mind control that had already been exerted on her in a way she could detect happening, but could not do anything about. She did not want to do anything about it. The demoness was right, after all. She had never felt more complete, more accepted and intimate than in that moment, kneeling, servicing and worshipping Eliza's shaft. She tried to swallow back tears, but felt happy that she was unsuccessful when the demoness' fingers lifted the moisture from her eyelashes in a ginger, caring gesture.

"Now, sit on your heels," said Eliza.

Summer did not understand, but she did not aspire to, either. Tingling, pleasurable weakness permeated her entire body, even her brain. She sank backwards and down at the succubus' command, looking up at those warm, caring eyes. Bronze with just a hint of red. She blinked and swallowed, realizing that she was breathing at a much elevated rate.

"You feel like servicing my cock completes you, don't you?" The succubus did not wait for an answer, reaching down to run the back of a few fingers over the side of the girl's head. "See... How much you can handle."

Summed nodded enthusiastically at the question, far more enthusiastically than she had imagined. The voice in the back of her mind was back, as if the motion had shaken some protesting part of her mind free. The pleasure she took from this debasing service was unreal. It could not be real. But when she reached up and folded small fingers partway around that thick, drool-inducing shaft, the pleasure felt very real. She silenced the voice and closed her eyes as she leaned closer.

For a moment, she let warm breath spread over the large cockhead. The demoness' fingers still trailed slowly through her hair, encouraging her and letting her know, at the same time, that this was a safe harbor. She leaned down just a little, pressing pursed lips directly against warm, sweet cockflesh. Immediately, a jolt of pleasure tore through her, making her shiver involuntarily, grasping tighter around that fat shaft, her other hand moving to her aching mound.

"No," said Eliza, laying a hand against the girl's shoulder, stopping her from any masturbation. "That's not your job, anymore."

"Ss- Sorry, Miss," said Summer, lifting her lips from the demoness' girth for a few short seconds.

She was almost unable to remain still, pleasure-weak and wracked by more agonizingly deep, conquering pleasure every time she managed a kiss against that hard, oversized crown. Finally, she gathered enough energy to reach up with the other hand, folding it around what she could of Eliza's cock, closer to the hilt. Steadying the shaft, she pressed a kiss to the tip, letting her lips expand over it as she leaned forward.

Summer almost writhed in pleasure, a shivering moan escaping her around the fat cockhead that filled her mouth more and more. She pressed her tongue flatly up at the back of it, curving just slightly, grinding back and forth. The satisfied groan that the succubus let out was music to the girl's ears, and she pushed further, beginning to have difficulty breathing as her cheeks bulged with the monster of a cock, the head pushing up against the opening of her throat.

Near collapsing with pleasure, she opened her eyes and looked up at Eliza. The succubus had pulled her lower lip in between her teeth, and she was breathing heavily through her nose, seemingly beginning to develop a faint sheen of sweat on her brow from the treatment Summer gave her. Still, the demoness' nose wrinkled as she made eye-contact with the girl again.

"Disappointing," said Eliza.

The effect of the word was almost like a physical blow, for Summer. She squeezed harder around the succubus' shaft, beginning to masturbate the creature steadily and dutifully, but it was not enough. It was clear that Eliza wanted more of her mouth and throat. Try as she might, though, she simply could not overcome the instinctual revulsion against pressing that enormous girth deeper into her maw, though she bopped heavily against the large, thick cockhead. She forgot her own pleasure, almost frantic in her quest to satisfy the succubus.

"Disappointing," said Eliza again.

The demoness' hand moved from Summer's head. She stepped back, removing the potent, bulging cockshaft from the girl's reach seemingly without thought for the almost crippling pleasure its mere touch had induced. The succubus knew better, of course. It had nothing to do with her physically, but everything to do with the careful, manipulating tendrils of magic she had weaved into the sorceress' mind.

"We're going to do something different," said Eliza. She took in the panting girl's appearance, smiling a little at the droopy strands of mixed precum and drool than hung from her chin. "Folds your hands behind your back."

Summer did as she was told, but she also moved a little closer to the demoness. As much as the little voice at the back of her mind told her not to give in to this creature's demands, she had been denied orgasm once already, yet no matter how neglected she was, the pleasure would not die down. The easiest way she could not add to that pleasure and hopefully peak was by continuing her oral service.

Eliza held her hand up, the index finger extended. For a moment, she wagged it back and forth, then placed it on top of the sorceress' parted lips, holding her back more by will and magic than any physical show of strength. The girl shivered in response to the touch, and for a moment eye contact was broken. It was otherwise maintained. Eliza had always found that her partners were never more attentive than when she kept them one agonizing throb away from orgasm, and so it was with this girl.

The succubus went down on one knee in front of Summer, moving the slightly moistened finger from the sorceress' lips down to press against the tip of one nipple. Just a little, fleeting push, but it was enough to make the girl whimper and almost double over. Even then, she obediently still kept her hands behind her back. The succubus smiled, and wrapped a hand around Summer's chin, looking sternly into her eyes.

"What is your greatest wish right now?" The demoness' voice was smooth as silk, hiding devious intent.

"Ph- Pleasure... Fuck," whispered Summer. Even the fingers curled around her chin were sending overpowering, rhythmic waves of deeply satisfying weakness through her body. "Please, M-miss, I can't... I can't... Take it."

The succubus' lips parted in a self-satisfied grin. "Will you do a little something for me if I let you come?"

"Yes," said Summer, her voice quivering. "Yes!"

"That was all I needed to hear," said Eliza. She leaned in close, more taking than giving a kiss.

Summer felt the succubus' tongue probe into her mouth, against her own, toying with her. Eliza's hands were against the back of her head. The warmth of the demoness' body as she was pulled close was overwhelming, and she could feel heartbeats that mirrored. And pleasure. Mind-altering, shivering waves of pleasure that made her moan into the kiss, and almost fall forward into the creature's embrace, washing any lingering protest away from her mind. She could feel her thighs not so much shivering as simply giving in, but all she could manage was a whimper.

"Ph-please," she whispered into Eliza's ear.

The demon pulled back from the kiss, her smile showing something that almost seemed to be tolerance. Indulgent, pitying acceptance at the defenseless state that Summer was in. The separation only lasted for a moment, then the succubus planted one firm kiss against the girl's lips. She shivered one last time, hands grasping for the demoness' shoulders to hold herself up.

Summer opened her eyes wide for a moment, and then closed them tightly. Her lips parted almost to the point of being an O, and remained that way as she shook rhythmically, clenching and almost crying with the intense, almost painful release of built-up pleasure. She clung to Eliza's solid form, gasping, her fingers shaking in their grip of pinkish skin, feeling the succubus' hands wrap around her waist to help keep her upright.

Her eyes rolled up, her body clamping down on nothing, then exploding into a rapid series of molten, gushing tensions, each one accompanied by another mind-numbing release of pleasure. The roiling waves raged against her shores for more time than her orgasmic mind could keep track of. All she sensed was that Eliza was there, holding her up, guiding her through something that would have scared her if she had still had enough control left to do anything but moan out in violent pleasure.

When she came to again, Summer found herself draped against the naked succubus' body, resting her head on its shoulder. The demon was running a calming hand through her hair, and cooing soft nothings to her. And it felt right, somehow. The orgasm had not erased the strange wish to be near this being despite what she had felt while overwhelmed with a climax held in check seemingly by the creature's lips.

"Still not done," whispered Eliza. She brushed an escaped strand of blonde hair away from the girl's face.

The girl looked up the succubus' bronze eyes, wondering where she might be taken next. She wanted to find out, and this was definitely not the last time she put herself in the hands of this creature, either. Summer had already decided that. She knew now why so many wizards and witches were alone. It was not that they could not find partners, it was this. This type of being.

Summer ran her hands down along Eliza's sides, nestling at the creature's hips. She was reminded of the girth she had serviced not all that long ago, and felt a worrying clump rise in her throat. But, at the same time, she felt a tingle in her arms at the mere thought. If Eliza's lips had made her orgasm as she did before, what might actual union do?

"I'm... I'm not sure," said Summer. She had felt sure, but something made the words come to her.

"Shh..." The succubus smiled down at her, shaking her head. It was the same pitying acceptance as before. "You'll never forget it, little one. I promise."

"I don't... I," said Summer. She shook her head, unable to remember what she had been protesting. "I'm... Sorry. I don't remember what's- what I was... Saying."

Eliza massaged the girl's scalp with her fingertips, the same smile still curling her lips. "Don't worry, little Summer. Just come with me."

With her arms wrapping around Summer's still trembling form, Eliza pulled the two of them up to a standing position. They still shared warmth and heartbeat, but the girl could no longer reach up to rest against the demoness' shoulder. Instead, her attention was lead elsewhere . The succubus' still slick, fat shaft had begun to grow plump again. The creature groaned slightly as the thick length slowly made room between their bodies.

Summer could not help but curl her toes. She moved backwards just a little bit, enough to gain vision between them, to see that frightening girth. Its strength was evident in the hard throbs she felt, and she wondered exactly what the succubus intended to do with it. Something was to be done, but it seemed impossible.

She had struggled just to fit her lips around it at full size, had felt like the corners of her lips had been on the verge of rupturing. And now, Eliza insistently ground the shaft between the two, smearing precum on Summer's stomach. She looked up again, words forming in her head. The succubus placed a finger over Summer's lips, shaking her head.

"This'll be the height of pleasure," said Eliza. She leaned down, removing the finger to plant a kiss against the girl's trembling lips. "Trust me."

Strangely, Summer did trust the succubus, at least when it came to pleasure. It had taken only one orgasm to cement that in her mind. There was a reason these demonettes were called lust demons or pleasure demons. She looked down, watching the creature's hand wrap around one of her wrists, removing it from the demon's hip.

"Come with me," said Eliza.

The words were charged with promise, this time. Summer followed behind the succubus, mirroring each step almost as if in a half-trance. They moved only a few steps, but she almost stumbled twice on her way to the bathtub.

"I don't... The water," mumbled Summer. She looked around for the bucket she used to fill the bathtub with, but the demoness clearly had other plans.

The tub was long and fairly shallow, designed to lounge in rather than disappear and wash in. It could be used for both, of course, but Summer had always enjoyed long, relaxing baths more than using the tub's actual functionality. That came in very handy now, as she was guided up into the smooth wooden furniture.

Eliza stepped up after her with hooves clacking lightly, and now it was the succubus' turn to plant her hands on Summer's hips. With her lips planted at the nape of the girl's neck, she slowly lowered both of them down onto their knees, and then forward, placing her hands on either side of Summer's, both of them now on all fours, one on top of the other.

Summer could very clearly feel the demon's thick shaft resting against her rump, and together with the dotted, pleasure-inducing kisses against her neck, she could not help but shiver. There was still a clump of coldness in her chest, but it was fighting a losing battle against the imperative to indulge in more of the mind-numbing pleasure that the succubus seemed to be able to deal out at will.

A mere kiss sent an expanding flower of weak tingles through her body, making her quiver. And every moment that passed, she became more away of the clingy, sticky precum smearing against her skin, almost seeming to seep into her and make her more pliable and willing. Now that she thought back, she had changed her mind drastically from when she had first worshipped the succubus cock to now.

Eliza's right hand moved from the ground next to Summer's, reaching up to dig into those blonde tresses and force the girl's head and upper body down. There was still no water in the tub, so Summer's cheek soon rested against polished, dry wood. The succubus still leaned over her partner and prey, beginning to rock back and forth slowly, perhaps to get the girl's mind and body used to the idea of being taken by what she had summoned.

For minutes, this continued. Gentle, insistent rocking back and forth, and a gradual flow of pleasure into Summer's mind. She began to feel clouded with it again, seeing but not really experiencing the world around her, except for Eliza. Her lips parted, her breath heavy as she slowly and deliberately moved back and forth against the bottom of the bathtub. The hand in her hair had hardened its grip, pulled more as time went on, but it felt natural to be beneath this being, to be made to pleasure it in return for all the pleasure it exuded by its mere presence.

She almost did not notice it when Eliza moved further back, because the rocking back and forth continued steadily regardless. It was the absence of those hefty balls against her that first made her aware, and the retreat of the fat shaft that had fit so snugly between her cheeks made her more alert. Even in her pleasure-addled state, she had imagined that she would have been less than thrilled with the prospect of being bred by this demoness.

Summer felt as if she should be less okay with it, as if she should be protesting. The best she could manage was a tortured groan and balling her hands up into fists, stemming them against the bottom of the bathtub. Her head was still held in place against it, though, and she did not truly protest. Even when she felt Eliza's girth begin to split her open and rock into her, she did not protest. Not at first.

But through the pleasure and the gentle rocking, it was as if a former her struggled to push open some sort of trap door at the bottom of her brain and break in. She was screaming at herself, in some sense, and the heavy breathing and moans began to turn to whimpers as the demoness pushed further, beginning to bury her broad cockhead in Summer's tight, slick cunt.

There was pain, the first real pain she had felt since the succubus had made her worship. She could feel her hips give way a little to make room for the thing's sheer size, and it felt as if she was being stuffed more than fucked. Summer blinked, trying to look backwards. The weakness and tingling of pleasure was forgotten, and quickly faded, leaving only the clump in her throat. She could see the beautiful, horned demon grinning gleefully as she gradually worked another inch in, and then another.

The final straw was when Eliza moved one hand to the front of Summer's thigh, holding her and dragging her further back onto the succubus' potent, rock hard length. The demoness' expression contorted in malicious pleasure as she powered a first thrust forward, and Summer shrieked, her fingers unfurling to claw at the bottom of the tub. The mind-numbing haze was lifting from her mind, and she tried to squirm away as the demon forcefully pumped forward a second time.

Eliza' knuckles whitened around the girl's thigh. She had let go of the stranglehold she had had of the sorceress' mind and pleasure-center. It no longer mattered. Watching the girl's ass wobble just slightly with each push forward, watching her writhe as her body accepted more and more of that immense, thick demon dick was what mattered. Eliza fed on it, on the emotions generated. She licked her lips, and leaned more heavily on the hand that held Summer's head down against the ground, reinforcing her position with another pistoning, pounding thrust.

Summer yelped in pain again, pushing against the bottom of the tub while trying to wriggle forward and away from the demoness. It turned out that the creature was far stronger than its simple physique let on. It laughed at her efforts, and rewarded her with hammering another weighty, fat few inches in, causing her to gasp hoarsely as she felt the brutal thrust grind and mash dick up against her cervix.

She looked around, grabbed for anything to use as a weapon, but it was futile. There was nothing except their bodies within reach. Desperately, Summer reached behind her head and wrapped her hands around the succubus' wrist, trying to remove the pressure that kept her cheek down against the bathtub's bottom. There was no response. Clawing, scratching and ripping at the creature's skin produced equally unremarkable results. And all the while, Eliza simply kept hammering forward, causing shockwaves of agony to lance through Summer's body, making her gasp wetly, weakening her already pathetic efforts to get free.

The succubus moved the hand from Summer's thigh, and immediately she slumped and began to slide forward. She was only allowed this freedom briefly, but she almost worked her way off the overstuffing, maddeningly thick cockshaft in those brief seconds. Eliza had mumbled a quick spell with her hand against the girl's back.

Summer had detected magic, but only in the periphery of her mind. It was secondary, right now. At least, she thought so until she felt what had been done. The succubus secured a grip of her thigh again, and slammed back in, mashing up against the groaning, gasping girl's cervix. And with further pressure, with another few hard thrusts, Eliza began to make headway. Summer's eyes shot wide open, her lips parting as a flash of something that was as much her body's scream that something very wrong was happening as it was pain.

Eliza pressed forward so slowly, it almost seemed like she was not moving at all. But like molasses, she made her way, and very gradually expanded the girl's cervix around the thick crown of her cock, pushing through and past it, into the sorceress' womb. The girl seemed practically paralyzed with shock, and the demoness took advantage, fastening both her hands around Summer's waist, using the holds to plunge deeper still, the very last thick, weighty inches of the demon's bitch-breaker hilting.

Summer moved a hand up in front of her squished face, looking at the trembling digits as if to confirm to herself that what she was feeling was real. The succubus had pushed as far in as she could possibly go, and it made her feel full in an entirely unnatural way. Finally, she managed a tortured groan. The demoness responded simply by launching into a series of short, hard thrusts where she ground only the innermost inches of that thick slab of meat in and out. Even that was almost too much for Summer, her mind seeming to give in only to flicker awake again constantly.

She tried to stem her hands against the bottom of the tub, but found them too shaky to do much. There was no escaping the creature's hold of her head, and no escaping the immense girth stuffing her clenching, tight cunt. She could only rock back and forth, drawing shaky breaths as her thigh muscles seemed to flex randomly at the jolt of pleasure, pain and raw, searing emotion that the demon's hilting thrusts elicited.

Much to Summer's surprise, it did not take long for Eliza's thrusts to become harder and more erratic. She had vaguely imagined that a lust demon would be able to go forever, but apparently that was not the case. The smack-smack-smack against her body, the creature's heavy, sloshing balls swinging and pushing against her, grew more intense. There was more weight leaned onto her head, and she could feel the demoness tensing behind her rhythmically, obviously coaxing out the orgasm.

The succubus leaned her head back, letting the hand behind the sorceress' head glide down to instead press the girl down against the smooth wooden bottom of the bathtub between her shoulderblades. For an instant, she held her breath. Then warm air exploded from her mouth after a gradual, tortured release, and she started groaning, her lower body convulsing and tensing to its own rhythm, transporting the first thickly-flowing gift through that thumb-thick cumvein.

Summer felt the rhythm supplant into her own body, her lips parting widely, her breath getting faster. Her eyes rolled halfway up, and one of her eyelids twitched, stuck between opened and closed. She felt very clearly the powerful, thick load of demon seed as it was shot deep inside her, the thick strand splattering and filling her.

It seemed that what the demoness had seemingly lacked in stamina, she made up for in volume. The first few seconds of release were feral, and reality disappeared for both partners, but as it kept on, as the succubus pumped more and more and more thick, potent cum into Summer's womb, it seemed they both regained a measure of control over themselves.

Summer could feel her stomach beginning to strain against the bottom of the bathtub, each fat load of demon jizz now making her previously flat stomach bulge a little more. She groaned, trying to dig her nails into the wood below her, trying to crawl away. The succubus' hand around her thigh held her in place mercilessly, ensuring that she took every single, powerful drop.

Just at the moment when she felt as if she could take no more, the demoness started thrusting again, while still pumping those creamy, searing shots of spunk into her. It was perhaps that slight, grinding, sloshing movement that started it, but the thick babybatter was allowed a place to go, rapidly filling Summer's already constricting, clenching cunt. It continued to flow, splurting out onto the demoness' body at last, flowing down into the tub.

Eliza's hand moved up behind Summer's head again, though it was not to hold her down this time. Instead, she simply whispered. "Sshhh."

As if that simple stream of air was a lullaby, Summer felt her grasp on consciousness begin to slip, even while she was still getting fucked and filled past the brink of what she thought at all possible. She wanted to say no, to scream it, to claw at something, to find a weapon and drive it into the thing's heart, but she could not even articulate the first letter of the word. She could only weakly move her hand as the world, constantly in pounding back-and-forth motion, darkened around her.

She awoke to bubbles popping lazily as she breathed through her mouth. She was still rocking back and forth, and the succubus was groaning, grinding those final, fat inches in and out as she came, and came, and came. Summer moved her hands, and found them covered in a yoghurt-y, lukewarm substance. Opening her eyes last, her sense of smell returning, she realized what it was. And at the same time, her mind reeled at the reality.

The succubus had kept going, and going. And now she had been awoken, lying in a foot of thick, warm jizz. And it was still rising. If she had not awoken when she did, she might have drowned. Just in the short time she had been awake, it had already risen half an inch.

The demoness' hand against her back kept her somewhat grounded, but she could still arch her back as she sloshed back and forth through the thick mess. Even so, groaning, she realized that in less than five minutes, she would either need to have learned how to breathe demonspunk, or she would drown in that very same substance.

It never got to that, of course. Within another minute, the level of the fertile liquid had risen enough that she could disappear under its surface. Another two minutes, and she was craning her neck not to have it flood her lips. She could feel the demon's flood of thrusts abating, though, but could also feel its hand moving up her back, making it harder for her to stay above the surface. She cast a glance back at the smiling demon, meaning to send it one defiant look before she went under. Instead, Eliza's hands entwined in her hair and pushed her under. She only managed to take a quick, sharp breath and close her eyes, then the surface of it closed over her head.

After some ten seconds, the demoness pulled her back up again, dripping and stranding with seed as she was. The creature hissed at her. "Now, your -promise-."

When she was shoved under the surface this time, it was different. The bottom of the bathtub seemed to blink out of existence. For a moment, she just drifted further and further down, until she reached the bottom of the sloshing layer. There was ground somewhere beneath it, but air in between.

Without grace, Summer dumped onto ashen, sandy ground. Rather more dignified, the figure that had been abusing her flashed through the liquid portal above, and landed next to her.

"Your will and body for a full day. What a stupid bargain to make," said Eliza. She was sheened in sweat as she stood over the girl, bumping a hoof against the prone figure. "Your will is mine. Tell me you will stay here forever, as my servant. You will never give up servitude, but remain mine until everything dies and turns to ash. Swear it on the soul I own."

Summer wrestled her head from the sand, looking up at the creature. It seemed to have grown taller. The hellscape she was now in might be its home, or place of power. She shook her head, opening her mouth. But what she could feel coming out was not defiant dismissal. She tried to collapse her throat, but her body would not properly obey her.

"I sh- swear... It."

The demon smiled, tousling the girl's hair like one might ruffle a dog's fur. She looked out over the infernal domain, content with the evening's harvest.

"Good girl."

 **Hard Shoulder**

The descent down his body was gradual and sensual. Clearly the female stranger preparing to treat her boyfriend to a blowjob was not a random first-timer or a fling, but a frequent flier. Grace remained in her car, even though the summer heat was making quick work of the previously pleasant, air-conditioned mini-climate. She had never understood why Andrew had wanted those floor to ceiling windows, but she was happy for them now.

It was almost a relief to be able to sit there and feel close two years of her life crumble. He had never really been the one, but he was nice, and decent in the sack. She had thought he was nice, at least. Things were different now, as she watched the redhead bimbo pry open his belt. The air shimmered over the asphalt, and she could hear kids playing in the background. The woman was just Andrew's type, too. Petite, like Grace herself. Lacked the blonde hair, but made up for it with a much bigger bust. Probably fake.

Grace scoffed at herself, wondering if it was even worth it to go in there and start a fight. Andrew was going to apologize and call it a one-off. He was going to say it would never happen again, and he might even convince her. She looked at herself in the rear-view mirror, right into those bronze-flecked green eyes.

"Why am I such an idiot?"

No one was around to hear, of course. Andrew might look out the window to see her car, but another glance up at his window made that seem unlikely. He was about to be too busy with far more exciting things than idle windowgazing. Grace picked up the case containing her sunglasses and clacked the door of her small Hyundai open. Revenge was a dish best served cold, preferably not at all, sure, but right now, she wanted to interrupt the stupid fucking bitch. And also to shout at Andrew a little before going home again to a tub of ice cream.

The heat was sweltering, almost like a wool blanket thrown at her as soon as she stepped outside. It was almost enough to make her snap for breath, but she was determined. There was a loose rock in the garden she had parked in front of. Just a little over fist-sized. It would serve its purpose well enough. Grace picked it up in both hands and walked as casually as she could towards Andrew's first floor apartment.

Fueled by disgust and anger, throwing the rock was easier than she had imagined it would be. It sailed almost gracefully through the air and impacted on the large window, shattering it in an inferno of noise. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it only managed to roll a foot or so onto his hardwood floor. Grace hoped they got scratched up good even as she raised both lightly tanned arms and gave the shocked, cowering couple both middle fingers.

"Fuck! You!" The shout sounded far more uncontrolled than she had wanted it to. Almost gurgling with rage.

She spat on the ground and brushed an almost shining blonde lock out of her face as the two lovers got on their feet again. Grace shouted again, then turned and half-ran to her car. She was shaking, half with rage, half with anxiety over what she had done. She could hear Andrew calling her name in the background, but it got lost in the heat of her mind, and then a slammed car door. She raised a middle finger to the two again as she drove off. He fucking deserved it.

Grace was markedly less satisfied with herself a few minutes later, still driving around the neighborhood. Not too close to Andrew's house, of course. She did not want to get caught. The red-hot glow of rage had subsided somewhat, even if she still very clearly knew that he was an asshole. Smashing the window had not been the right thing to do, even if he had wasted two years of her life. He could set the cops on her.

She halted the car and for a moment hid her face in her hands, rubbing carefully so as to not ruin any makeup. What was she doing? She looked up to the idyllic, somewhat scorched gardens around her. A police car drove past, the officer in there giving her no more than a cursory glance. She was not a suspect at that moment, at least not to that officer, but it was enough to jolt her awake, to enable a flight response. The car coughed awake at the turn of the key, and she threw it back onto the street. The freeway was only some ten minutes away, and then she would be home in another twenty.

"Fuck him," she whispered.

It had been a lazy afternoon for Judy. Not a single car had gone by fast enough that she had needed to fire up the roof. The speed trap had not caught a single person going more than a few miles more than they were allowed. They would be treated to a polite letter, and then that would be it.

The police car seemed not to be proportioned properly for someone as tall and toned as her, and she had to shift around several times. She had, at last, taken to resting her legs on the passenger seat to be able to stretch a little. Even that was not quite as comfortable as she would like, but it would do. The speed trap beeped as it caught another offender, but again, nothing serious. Judy exhaled through her nose as she unzipped her black canvas uniform pants, digging into her boxers, fingers curling around a fat, twelve-inch cockshaft.

She cast a glance over her shoulder at the passing cars as she began lazily jerking up and down. The job as police officer usually afforded her far more, if illicit, ways to get her rocks off than this, but the day had been exceptionally slow. She had resigned herself to masturbating, but was at least going to make it a comfortable, time-consuming pleasure. The radio had not buzzed once with something she needed to pay attention to. Miah had not caught anyone all day either.

Judy arched a little, tensing as she pumped her thighs up into her stroking hand. It was useless. Her arm simply mirrored the rhythm of her thighs. The effort was wasted. She sighed, abandoning the slowly plumping, lengthening shaft to cradle her nutsack, lifting and massaging the two fist-sized balls carefully. It had been several days, and she was about ready to explode. Just a shame it had to be into something in the police car.

Grace joined the traffic of the freeway behind a large truck, and was more or less boxed in by a succession of other large vehicles trying to overtake it. It was an excruciatingly slow process, and it helped build her anxiety and anger up from the simmering point it had been at. When she was finally able to get out from behind the sputtering truck, she floored the speed pedal, just wanting to get the hell away from it, from Andrew, and from thoughts constantly circling about that redhead getting on her knees.

She was torn from her daydreaming when the sharp whine of a siren cut through the muted noise of the engine inside her car. At first, she figured the slowly undulating, piercing tones were for someone else. When the black and white four-wheeler matched speeds with her, that illusion was dispelled very quickly. The uniformed, muscly-looking brunette waved at Grace to park at the side of the road.

The combination of anger, anxiety and relief of getting away from the scene of her earlier crime was replaced by a churning, cold lump in her stomach, her windpipe constricting as if it knew that she was in trouble. Grace let the Hyundai roll to a slow stop well into the hard shoulder at the side of the freeway. The large cop car passed her and stopped in front, backing up to almost bump against her. Undoubtedly to stop her from just driving away. She swallowed, and watched the woman get out of the car, look to both sides and then walk toward her.

The uniformed policewoman tapped on her window with a knuckle, and she rolled it down, trying her best to be all calm and smiles. Surely this woman could not know about her stunt with the rock and the window. Was it even reported yet?

"Could you step out of the vehicle, ma'am? We need to talk, and I don't want to get hit by some idiot who can't control his car."

Grace nodded sheepishly and undid her seatbelt. The woman had sounded almost conversational. She had never gotten a fine before, but surely they usually just got on with it if she was to be fined? Maybe she had not been going quite as fast as she thought. The cop walked to the back of her car, and Grace heard a muted, shattering crunch. She jumped out of the car, ready to shout something, and then immediately had to press herself against the side of her Hyundai as a truck passed close by, almost deafening her.

"What the hell are you doing?" Her voice almost drowned in the constant, loud hum of engines.

The woman looked up at her, then tapped the back of a black-gloved finger against a shattered brake light. She fished a pad out of her back pocket and started to write while mumbling to herself loud enough that Grace could hear.

"Speeding, brake light not functioning, vandalism..."

"Vandalism?" Grace was beginning to regain some level of confidence after the cop had shattered her brake light. She managed an almost indignant tone.

"There was a report of a blonde in a black, strappy top and a plaid skirt destroying a window some twenty minutes drive from here. She was in a Hyundai, named Grace Moore."

"Oh... Right," said Grace, deflating completely.

"You acknowledge having done the vandalism then, miss Moore?"

"Yeah, I... Yeah, it was stupid. My boyfriend just-"

"Mhm," said Judy, writing a checkmark next to something on her pad. "Wait here a moment, I have to get something from my car."

Grace watched the woman walk to the large cop car, her heart practically in her stomach. She could hardly afford her place month to month. The fine for all this would be astronomical. She would have to take a loan, or find some far more unsavory work than the coffee bar she was a waitress at right now. She sighed, glancing from the shattered brake light to where the brunette leaned into her car. Grace could almost pick up something said into the radio, a name starting with M, and a word that sounded like 'backup.'

Judy set the radio back in place, smiling lopsidedly to herself. Mia would be arriving within fifteen minutes to help her deal with the situation. Of course, she had to figure a way to have some fun on her own before the other woman cop arrived. She had the petite blonde figured as someone who could be trampled fairly easily, especially with a little coercion and artificial inflation of the fine to be paid.

With a smirk, Judy added an extra zero and then pushed off from the seat, walking back to the rather depressed-looking girl. She was a genuine cutie. Somewhere in her very, very early twenties, bleached blonde hair with a more natural, bronzy red just about peeking out at the roots, holding one lightly tanned arm with the other hand.

"Alright," said Judy. She tapped her fingers against her thigh, taking in the slender girl standing in the low, wild-growing grass. "License, please."

Grace pulled out her wallet and produced the card, with a picture she had thought was great when the license was made. Not so much now. "Here."

Judy smirked as she held up the card. On it was a youngster with very accentuated, widely-opened eyes and a lopsidedly opened mouth. The hair was short and covered a lot of one side of her face on the photo. She wore the same strappy black top she did now. It was clearly some attempt at looking fake wild or cute. It would have worked even better if the girl had not had that button nose and seemingly tender, pinkish lips. As it was, she just came off like someone Judy would really, really love to ruin.

"Mhm."

"So... What's going to happen?" Grace was clearly worried, squeezing on her upper arm rhythmically as she watched the officer.

"Here's what's going to happen," said Judy. She pointed on the ground next to the Hyundai's driver's seat door. "Stand there."

The uniformed woman ripped the front piece of paper off her pad, and showed it to Grace. The girl scanned through it quickly. Speeding, vandalism, broken brake light; it added up to an astonishing 35000 dollars. Her eyes flickered to the rather self-satisfied looking officer, then back to the paper. That had to be a mistake. Thirty five thousand? She licked her lips.

"Is this, uh- Final? I can't pay this. I'll be homeless. Even then, I couldn't afford to pay half..." Grace looked up at the officer with what she hoped were pleading eyes. "Please, officer?"

Judy let her stew for a few seconds, then cast a glance onto the stream of rapidly moving vehicles passing them, pretending to think. "There is a way you could waive the fine."

"Thank you," said Grace. The relief was palpable. Her hands were shaking, and she folded them and the paper up and held them at her sides. "Thank you, thank you. Thank you. What do I need to do?"

The policewoman smiled, once again a little too self-satisfied for Grace's tastes, and then pointed t the ground again. "You can get on your knees, there."

"What?"

"You heard me. Get on your knees," said Judy, her voice showing a clear lack of patience with being questioned. "Get on your fucking knees if you don't want to pay."

Grace swallowed, idly pushing a stray lock out of her face. If the officer had been a guy, she would have understood, but this? She licked her lips, and then sank down on first one knee, then the other. Luckily, the grass was fairly thick. It would have been more than a little uncomfortable to kneel on the scorching asphalt. After taking a deep breath, she looked up at the woman as she stepped over in front of her.

"So? What do you want? I'm not a lesbian."

"Honey, you're whatever the fuck I want you to be," said Judy, unbuckling her belt. "Today, though, you're just in charge of making sure we have fun."

With that, Judy pried her belt open entirely, pushed her boxers several inches down and reached inside them to pull out the still half-hard foot of fat cock she had been nursing in the car when this idiot had interrupted her. The top of the girl's vehicle was in the way of showcasing her glorious length to every driver coming their way, and those going the other way would only get a view of her sculpted butt. And possibly the girl's efforts at sucking cock.

"Are you serious? Can't we at least go to your car?"

"You're paying the fine now, and part of the payment is showing people how you make your way in the world," said Judy. She gave her fat side of beef a few lazy strokes, feeling it grow further with renewed throbs. "Do your best, or you'll still have to pay."

"Fuck," whispered Grace. Half at the situation, half at the massive dick hanging half-limp in front of her face. "You're serious."

After hesitating and glancing out onto the road, knowing that she was shielded only by the low body of her car, she reached up, slender fingers curling halfway around the officer's girth. Grace wished she had paid to have toned windows in her car, but it was too late now. She stroked back and forth a few times, still rather timid and experimental. This had to be a contender for the world record of size. She found her mouth watering even as she wondered if she could fit her lips around the huge crown of the woman's shaft.

"Get to it," said Judy, laying one heavy hand on the kneeling girl's shoulder.

"Yh-yeah," said Grace, trying to dispel her hesitation.

She gave another stroke, closed her eyes, and then craned her neck up a little to meet the smooth, large cockhead with a kiss. At least the pushy woman had washed recently she thought before extending her tongue out, dragging it flatly up along the back of Judy's cockhead, eliciting a satisfied sigh from the standing officer. Grace pecked another kiss at the plumping tip, and another. A whole little series.

A couple of minutes on her knees was worth it not to be homeless, she thought, her lips slowly spreading as she leaned forward and bopped perhaps an inch onto the broad head of Judy's huge, thick cockshaft. She felt the officer's hand move from her shoulder up to caress against her neck, jawline, ear and then into her hair as she sank deeper still, her cheeks bulging a little, her tongue flattening in her mouth as the vast fuckrod began to sink in further. The heat was merciless, both from the fat shaft, and the sun.

"Good girl," said Judy, her voice mocking. She began pulling Grace's head closer, though it was as of yet still a suggestion more than a command.

Grace's instincts did not at all appreciate the gentle suggestion, as the almost grotesquely thick log of a cock began to press heavily up against her throat, making her fight to hold back retching motions. She had tried this before - Andrew had loved it - but never with someone quite as mind-numbingly well-endowed as this officer. And now, it seemed as if the choice of whether it would happen or not was being taken away from her. Grace closed her eyes, drew in as much air as she could, and tried to relax her throat.

The closed eyes only lasted for a few seconds. Judy's size was immense, enough that she could feel her throat expanding and working to fit around the thick, hefty cylinder of potent dick. Her fingers tightened in her hold of her own thighs, and she looked up at the officer, blinking quickly. Her eyes, she imagined, were still neutral, but it would not take long until they changed character, pleading for breath as her face strained around the immense dick being slowly pushed down the first part of her throat.

Finally, she lifted her hands and pressed them against the woman's thighs to signal that enough was enough. She was allowed to sink back on her heels, and realized that she was sweating lightly from the ordeal and the blistering heat, even with Judy giving her shadow to hide in. Grace lifted one hand to stroke idly on the girthy shaft, blinking away tears as she looked out onto the road. She was uncertain about how much a potential onlooker could see, but it was probably too much. They would definitely be able to see her slow bopping at the crotch of a police officer, even if they might not be able to see the monster in this woman's canvas pants.

There was a grunt and a pat on the side of her head. She breathed in deeply several times, and then pressed a kiss to the now spit-covered, vast cockhead, letting her lips expand over it until she was gaping as widely as she could. Only then did Judy's shaft start sinking back in, once again pressing against the entrance to Grace's throat.

She managed one more breath, and then she felt the woman's hand on her head begin to pull her down. The girl straightened her neck as the large cockshaft sank deeper this time, helped along by Judy's commandeering pull. She was bopped back and forth a few times now, going deeper still, before being allowed off again, coughing several times in between gasps for air.

"You're doing fine, girl. But it's not enough to get off without paying..."

Grace did not let that threat hang idly, once again rising a little to meet the steely, rigid fuckrod's head. She dispensed with the kiss this time, instead taking as much as she could within her maw. A strand of drool rolled past her lips, swinging lewdly from her chin within seconds. She did not care. It was about survival. Her life was in the hands of this well-endowed shemale.

That thought stirred her mind to something else. Grace lifted one hand from Judy's thigh to dig into the officer's pants, feeling some equally massive balls. She truly was a marvelous, if near-absurdly sized miracle. Those fist-sized nuts weighed heavily in the girl's meekly massaging hand as she gurgled at pressing the woman's vast thickness down her throat. Finally, Judy's second hand joined the first. The pressure from both was more than enough to easily handle Grace's depths, and handled she was.

She had to straighten her neck. The first, fat inches went in easily enough, her throat already squeezed and thrusted wide enough to accept the behemoth. The following descent was quite a lot more troublesome, Grace's hand against the officer's thigh curling up in something nearing a claw as the pull on the back of her head increased, her throat bulged around those massively fat inches grinding deeper and deeper down. She could not even pretend to swallow anymore, so far was Judy's plump shaft forced down. And there were still a few more inches to go.

Grace looked up at the officer, eyes telegraphing a mix of obedience and pleading as she did her best to gobble forward, wriggling her head from side to side what little she could, slowly devouring those last few, hefty inches, feeling as if the swollen, thick cockhead was pressed far enough down to reach her collarbone. And even then, Judy's hands continued pulling, not satisfied until the girl's nose flattened against her pelvis and she felt the drool-covered chin snuggle into the little nape between the root of her thick fuckrod and where her weighty balls hung, still weakly being fondled by Grace's quivering hand.

Utterly buried in the girl, Judy let out a throaty, satisfied moan. Her arms were steeled and gripping hard, locking Grace's head in place practically glued to the strong dickgirl's pelvis. A few seconds passed, and then the officer thrust forward. She could not go deeper, but she could still punish the girl's face, and that was what she did, hammering against it with repeated, shocking force.

She ignored the beginning gurgling, bubbling hacks and would-be coughs in favor of this depth-plumbing, merciless fun. She knew that Grace was slowly choking, but did not care. The girl had to work for her freedom, and work she definitely would. Judy knew that Miah would be arriving within five minutes.

Grace had moved her hand from the officer's balls, instead stemming them against the woman's muscled, tensed thighs in an attempt to signal that enough was enough. Even when she started to dig in nails, it did not seem to make much impact through the uniform. When she tried to move her legs, Judy quickly stepped forward, forcing Grace to lean backwards at a sharp angle. She was still trapped with that massive cockshaft so deep in her throat that the thick precum ran directly down into her stomach, and now she was completely at the mercy of a policewoman who seemed to have no qualms about choking her.

It was only when she began tearing at the woman's uniform that she felt backwards movement. Even then, when it felt like the enormous cock-crown was only seconds from popping free and letting her gasp for breath, Judy obviously could not resist thrusting in hard once again, prolonging Grace's more and more hazy asphyxiation. Her eyes had begun to roll up her head when she was finally allowed to breathe, coughing strands of precum-mixed drool around the woman's fat shaft, completely oblivious to the heat and the possibility of being discovered.

She was not allowed much recovery this time. When there was some semblance of stability to her breath, the officer jammed those many, fat inches of fuck-girth directly down her throat again, though she began to thrust this time. Grace tried to look. A part of her had always enjoyed the powerlessness inherent in this position, enjoyed the sight of someone's body thrusting up against her. She was treated to a full show here, as Judy's muscled pelvis slammed against her face over and over, slowly developing flushed, bruised areas.

It was in the middle of this that Grace realized that another car was stopping behind hers, completely fencing it in. She cast a quick, shaking glance at it mid-thrust, closing her eyes tightly again as soon as she had seen what she needed to and smacked against Judy's pelvis. Another cop car. She was not sure if her cheeks warmed with an embarrassed blush now, or if it was simply the pounding officer's impacts growing brighter over time.

Then, under a shower of rhythmic groans and reflexive tension, Grace was forced up against the officer's pelvis. She soon felt why, having a very intimate, face-first sense and view of the musculature that kicked into gear as Judy began a slightly shuddering climax. A car door slammed at the same time as the first fat, powerful strand of seed jetting into her, pumped more or less directly into her stomach. It underscored the sheer, physical force of the hard ejaculation well.

Whoever had stepped out of the car approached. Grace could tell as much through the somewhat odd, steady throbs of Judy's orgasm. The first large loads of viscous, yoghurt-y spunk had had the same erratic, needy quality to them that she knew from Andrew. Rather than abate, though, Judy's orgasm settled into a once a second, powerful shot of seed that seemed to provide the quietly groaning officer with slightly less, but still shivering pleasure. Grace began to feel more and more full with each load, realizing that her stomach was actually beginning to fill due to the sheer amount.

She managed a look to the side, though, seeing another uniformed, female figure. This one was far more brazen, though, unbuckling as it moved the final few steps up to her side, pulling out a fat fuckrod that more than matched the one currently held in Grace's throat.

The other officer bent down to pick something off the floor. It took a moment for Grace, with black dots dancing in her vision and the steady, hard throb of thick jizz pouring down her throat, to realize that it was the paper with her fines written on it. The other policewoman looked down at her through dark sunglasses, painted lips curling into a predatory grin as she crumbled the paper up into a ball.

Grace could feel the woman's presence as she stepped out of sight. The newly arrived cop was behind her, very close. A few seconds later, she felt a heavy weight land on the back of and on top of her head, and felt a new, insistent grinding. She was now the target of two, massive dicks.

"Wait your turn," grunted Judy at Miah.

"Psh," exhaled the newcomer, though she remained relatively passive other than stroking herself against the petite, kneeling blonde's increasingly messed up hair. "Seems I was just in time."

"Nnnh," said Judy, the rhythmic, powerful loads finally abating. She pulled that massive cockshaft backwards slowly, maintaining a hold on Grace's head to keep her upright as she launched into gasping and coughing. "Sure- hnnh- Whatever."

Grace was heaving for breath, more hanging by Judy's hands than really keeping herself upright when a new pair of rough hands landed on her shoulders, and then immediately moved up to keep her mouth open.

"Open wide," said Miah as she stuffed the crumpled-up paper into the girl's mouth.

If that had been all, coupled with the sloshing load in her stomach, Grace might have considered herself fairly lucky. But she heard the distinctive, ripping sound of tape being readied, and in the next moment, the newly arrived officer was winding clear, transparent tape around her head, centered on her mouth. Grace's hair was not lifted, but rather coldly trapped by the tape as well. More and more circles, enough to keep even someone with free hands busy for over a minute.

"You seriously think someone would've heard her in a car?" Judy's voice was mildly amused more than annoyed.

"Fuck if I know. But I don't wanna get interrupted. Back or front?"

"I'll take her ass," said Judy.

The two brunette officers switched places, Miah's hands hooking under Grace's armpits and lifting her up. Judy's hands curled around the girl's thighs to hold her up, leaning against the Hyundai at the same time as she spread Grace's legs wide. The plaid skirt had ridden up considerably, and black, lace panties now peeked out. When Grace tried to rebel, to push and wriggle her way free, she was embraced by the newly arrived, huge-cocked officer. The purpose of the embrace was made obvious soon after, as the girl's wrists were gathered behind her back and taped together, limiting what she could do considerably.

Grace's overwhelmed mind was racing, trying to deal with thoughts and events at the same time. This had never been on the cards before, but now she was about to face the reality of these two absurdly endowed, statuesque women pounding into her. Perhaps most worryingly, she had been trying to have a baby with Andrew, and there was still time this month. She had been glad to have caught him before throwing herself at him today. Now, the newly arrived, brown-eyed woman's fat shaft ground insistently against her panties, and Grace wondered intensely if everything truly worked. Her sloshing, cream-filled stomach was a resounding yes, but the half-minute long, hard ejaculation into her throat had been almost surreal.

She could feel the first officer's equally girthy, rock hard slab of meat grind into her butt and between her cheeks. It seemed miraculous that she could still go on after the enormous load she had let go, but there seemed to be no sign of exhaustion. All Grace felt from Judy was a thick, sweat-mixed scent that she continuously denied finding attractive.

For a good minute or so, she was worked and gyrating between the two very insistent, grinding officers, unable to deny a piercing excitement lodged somewhere between her belly and chest. To be the focus of both of these stallions was - would be - something else. Their heavy breathing, scent and the size and weight of their erections constantly throbbing against her almost made her desire this.

She was freed now, in a sense. Coerced and restrained, there was nothing she could do but take every fat, punishing inch, and the thought of it coupled with their physical presence made her more than a little excited. Her panties became damp, and then thoroughly wet as Miah's thumb-thick cumvein pushed against and into her cunt. She whimpered in quiet pleasure behind the tape and mouth-filling paper ball, but the smirk that spread on the newly arrived officer's lips made it obvious that the two had heard.

"This is so much easier, isn't it?" Judy had leaned in behind, whispering in Grace's ear. "So much better. Let the -slut- take over."

Grace shivered. She could not deny that the attraction was there. Very much so. She had never dared explore it with her various boyfriends, had been too ashamed and worried they would take true advantage. But even so, the fantasies of rape had followed her almost since she had first thought of perversion. These two made it easy. They took the choice away, and she was not sure she wanted to have the choice at all, right now.

She was not knocked out of this reverie until the two, almost in unison, pushed her panties aside. Broad, powerful cockheads now pressed directly up against her, caving in and opening her slit wide, breaking slowly into her tense, clenching ass. She let out a tortured, high-pitched groan, beginning to writhe in the grip of the two women as conflicting emotions overtook her. And above it all, there was one thought.

She looked into the newly arrived officer's eyes and shook her head, looked down significantly, then back up and shook her head again. Grace could not articulate a no, but she tried. Only a muted, indiscernible sound came out. She tried to wriggle free, but one woman held below her thighs, the other above. She was locked in place, and could only accept as the first inches of those vast, fat cockshafts stuffed into her.

Miah leaned in, pressing her lips against Grace's neck before speaking. "I know, girlie. I'm going to pump you full, and I don't give a fuck. You're going to be a bred slut."

Grace's eyes widened, and she shook her head gain. Her gaze locked with Miah's, and the hard look that returned cemented what had been said. Grace tried to scream, but all that came out was a muted, hoarse sound that was answered with a self-satisfied smile and two hard, deepening thrusts. The girl let her head fall backwards, her body tensing at the powerful shock of force hammered into her as another few inches of vast dick were slammed in.

Already, the two behemoth, hefty shafts were beginning to grind up against each other inside of her, setting off jolts of emotion she was not even aware her body was capable of, even as she clenched and constricted, almost milked around those maddeningly thick, overstuffing bitch-breaking shafts. A scream stuck in her throat, instead coming out as a subdued, hoarse gurgle.

The two began to thrust into her in earnest, one hard, upward, slam-fucking pound replaced with another. The broad, weighty cockshafts felt as if they were rearranging her in some way to make room, and not too long after, Grace could feel and glance down to see a thick, surreal and ever-moving bulge created by those two vast, hammering shafts. Every moment that passed, every ramming, pumping inch of dick shoved in, feelings mounted. Pain, worry, but beneath it all a bubbling, slowly building flood of pleasure.

Even when Miah's fat, hard cockhead plowed against Grace's cervix, she did not do more than yelp. The shock of pain she had expected was dulled, perhaps by pleasure, perhaps by the strange, pheromonal scent the two exuded. Whatever it was, the girl was writhing in pleasure shortly after, even as the merciless officer pounded up against her slowly surrendering cervix while Judy's thick shaft continued its progress, more than half buried in Grace's clenching, tight ass by now.

Another wave of unknown emotion rolled through Grace as her cervix gave way and let the powerful, sculpted woman who held her thighs down into her womb. The last part of the journey seemed far easier now, and in the span of half a minute, both officers had hammered, rammed, thrusted and plowed their way in to the hilt. Grace was shaking, never having felt so full in her entire life. And even while her body protested, she could tell from mild, testing twitches that the pleasure she felt was real. The two brutal dickgirls had only to start thrusting, and then she would not be able to hold back the tide of orgasm.

Even while Judy held still, though, Miah thrusted. Just the bottom, fattest few inches of her immense dick, but it was enough to send Grace into mewling, purring moans, and then into heavy bursts of breathing. Finally, Judy joined in with the slow, meticulous thrusts, almost as if they were coercing the pleasure out of the girl. Within seconds, they were rewarded. Grace's thighs tensed, and then launched into a swift staccato of rolling, crashing pleasure, her body clamping down on the two steadily thrusting, mammoth cocks. She rolled her head back, and moaned freely into the paper filling her mouth. The two officers merely continued to build a mutual, punishing pace.

Grace let her head loll forward for a moment, twitches of pleasure still jolting through her as she rode up and down to the sound of muscled bodies crashing into hers. The wide bulge on her front rode with her, telling of the size and power of the two fat lengths ramming balls deep into her. She no longer cared if they were seen. She no longer cared that someone might stop, or that she might get known for something. The sheer intensity of the pounding, plowing thrusts was all she could contain. That, and the building wave of the next orgasm.

For over ten minutes, hard, sweaty bodies crashed into her in a brutal, deep pace. And for over ten minutes, she arched and writhed between the two officers, teetering on the edge of a second, deeper orgasm. It was only when the brown-eyed stud-ess in front of her began to grunt harder, become more erratic, that she was able to begin to push over the edge.

The combination of Judy's rhythmic, punished thrusts into her maddeningly tight, overstuffed ass with Miah completely hilting in her womb, the first, near-bruising strand of potent, thickly-flowing cream set her off, interrupting her heavy breathing and forcing her to gasp as she clamped down, milking almost in unison with the fat futacock's rhythmic, impregnating pumps of thick, fertile seed.

Grace's eyes rolled back, and to the seemingly eternal, almost mechanical pumps of babybatter filling her, her orgasm deepened, and her mind receded. She moaned wildly into the gag and tape, thrashing in pleasure between the two grinding, thrusting bodies, vaguely aware that the thick, cock-shaped distension on her lower stomach was beginning to grow a dome as Miah unloaded what surely had to be many neglected days of womb-filling jizz.

Judy, numbed slightly by her first orgasm, continued to hammer away, making Grace's stomach and womb slosh as she was still raising slightly at the force of the hilting. She let out a second, languid moan as Miah's shaft was withdrawn, but then opened her eyes wildly, still blurry with orgasmic pleasure, as she felt the second officer's broad cockhead push against her already straining, overfilled ass. She shook her head, weakly trying to protest, but it was out of her hands.

The fingers keeping her in place tightened, and Grace leaned her head back, a muted, high-pitched, hoarse noise escaping her. She felt as if her eyes were on the verge of rolling again, and instead closed them, quaking with shocked pleasure and pain as that second, behemoth cock squeezed in besides the first, her poor, punished rump slowly forced to make room.

It took an eternal minute for the two fat lengths to reach the same depth and then sink deeper together. Grace could not even comprehend what was going on for the first long while, overwhelmed by the pressure and movement. She could only look up at the crystal blue sky, shaking with each thrust.

She only gradually became aware that Miah was not moving, but that Judy had picked up the pace instead, grinding every wall and nerve as she went, ramming almost every single, fat inch in and out with every thrust. The girl could feel her widely spread cheeks begin to bruise under the onslaught, but it did not last long.

The first sign was Judy's hardening grip of her thighs, coupled with the rather more needy gasps and the erratic, crashing thrusts. Miah leaned in close, lips and teeth closing around successive little patches of Grace's skin to nibble, kiss and bite, the shemale seeming satisfied with simply being balls deep in the girl's ass for now, accompanying her partner's journey to a second explosive orgasm rather passively.

Grace felt a hard, final thrust batter into her maddeningly overstuffed ass, her head lolling to the side, eyes moving to glance down at her distended, cum-bulging belly. The vague outlines of the two large shafts were still visible, and now the bulge started to grow slowly but steadily larger as Judy's second, flooding, thick strands of jizz spasmed into the girl's ass. Grace could very clearly hear the officer's breath, her grunts, her clothes creaking slightly as the woman tensed. And above all, there was the clear, pounding, pumping feeling of those surreal, thick loads hammering with force into her body. It was a wonder that the cop even had anything left to shoot after her first copious orgasm, but this one seemed to equal the first easily.

Behind the tape, with the slowly dissolving paper making it easier to say something understandable, she tried to beg for it to stop. All it came out as were some slurred words and a few heavier breaths through her nose as she was trapped and squeezed between the two, rocking slightly with each deep, hosing jet.

She was not sure how long it took, exactly, stricken with exhaustion and filled with more seed than she had ever thought possible, but she was let down. Surprisingly gently, in fact. Grace leaned her back against the side of her car and tried to focus her gaze up at the two officers. She saw two pairs of arrogantly self-satisfied brown eyes looking coldly down at her, and two right hands jerking those plump, rather messy shafts.

Grace was too tired to do anything but vaguely begin to work her hands free from the tape. Sweat and spilled pearls of cum had loosened it enough that it would not be a big problem to get out. She could not get out in time to get away from these two, however. They continued to masturbate, brazenly turned towards traffic. It would be very easy for someone to look out and discover them, even with a car in between. They did not seem to worry.

For a few minutes, Grace waited with closed eyes, then she started to hear the familiar, occasionally held-back breaths and the low grunts that she by now knew well. Another minute, and relieved if strained sighs joined, and she felt the first sludgy, thick strand paint lewdly over her face. It could not get a good grip on the tape over her mouth, but seemed to catch on her chin. Within moments, droopy ropes of seed competed to run from her face and down onto her top as one officer joined the other in painting her face.

When they were finally finished, one leaned down. Grace could not open her eyes for the heavy, covering layer of spunk on her face, but she could feel someone's presence. A few words were whispered in her ear, and then the two snorted a chuckle and moved back to their respective cars. She was left behind, breathing slowly through her nose as the two vehicles drove off.

"Consider the fine paid in eighteen years and nine months, when the little one moves out."

 **The Grove's Gift**

"This is just one area you've left desolate."

Serya wrinkled her nose. Black, gelatinous stalagmites composed of rotten leaves, animals and trees met her everywhere she looked. There was no smell to it. In fact, the sludgy, decayed matter seemed locked in time. It was as if some unknown force had swept the forest and crystallized it in a shared moment of decomposition.

She knew the force, and knew that it would have used up every ounce of energy left in the plant matter. That was why there was no smell. There was not enough substance or spirit left in this place even for rot. It was not one of nature's many, random derelict places. She was the cause, the hand behind the force; the hand that had exploded hundred year-old trunks and stolen the lives of rodents, maggots, worms and a solitary deer, too.

The young elf pushed the hood of her deerskin cloak back, glancing to her sylvan companion. "How many other places like this?"

"I don't know, druidess. Not exactly. There are large areas dotted around, but innumerable small ones as well."

Serya sighed. The layer of black, time-stopped blight on top of the earth stopped new life from appearing. It was her duty to correct the devastation she had wrought, even after all she had given to ensure the safety of the forest, and of the surrounding lands. She looked to her right, and up. Despite the scars in the forest, it seemed as if her Nymph companion had not suffered. In fact, she had grown stronger and taller in the three years Serya had been absent. Blonde, naked and beautiful enough to blind lesser creatures, just like all of her kin.

"Anaharae, be honest with me. How much damage have I done?"

The nymph looked wistfully at the ruined landscape in front of her. There was a timeless sadness to her eyes in that moment, as if she was looking at a mass grave filled with the corpses of friends. She responded long after the druid had returned her silent gaze to the bleak scene in front of them.

"Too much, druidess. Last summer, when you called on the water spirit from the stream and it perished, we had drought and flooding for months until a new spirit settled in. Two years ago, when you borrowed the spirit of flame and heat for three days, I woke up with rime in my hair in the middle of summer. When you asked for the wind elemental last autumn, many plants never had their pollen and seed carried to where it was needed. Just three weeks ago, when you asked for life and received it, this happened."

Anaharae gestured to the blighted, blackened area in front of them. "There are more like it, when you asked for life in the past. But none as bad as this."

"I was dying, Ana," said Serya.

"I know. The forest knows. And you're still here, because we all know you did what you did to protect us. But the price was high."

Serya glanced up to the pale blue sky. The first green leaves of early spring were emerging around the physical evidence of the cost of her own resurrection. The scar in the landscape would take years to recover, even with her efforts. She watched an old, wizened leaf blow into the blackened area, half-expecting it to blacken along with everything else. It did not, instead clinging to one of the low, flattened rot-stalagmites.

"That's how the forest will recover," said Serya. She pointed to the brown leaf. It flapped in the wind, but seemed to be, at least for now, stuck to one of the stalagmites. "One leaf at a time. One little bit of life at a time."

Anaharae exhaled forcefully, with a vague, skeptic appreciation for the druidess' words. "You haven't forgotten about the reward that was promised when you set out either, I trust."

"No, I... I do not think a day went by without me thinking of it, Ana," mumbled Serya. "But it can wait. The forest needs me more than I need it, right now."

The nymph nodded and turned halfway towards Serya, who snapped for breath. She considered herself very faithful, but around the stunningly beautiful nymphs, she frequently had to remind herself of the bladesinger she was promised to. Harlan, his name was. He waited in the village she was born in, as patiently as she did. With a life that could potentially last longer than a millennia, there was no hurry for either of them. He practiced and trained every day, and she did the same, albeit in nature's service rather than the army's.

This particular nymph, Anaharae, had been her companion ever since she first arrived to take this forest under her wing. She was not the only nymph in the forest, but she was their speaker. The greatest of them all, and the most beautiful. Serya often wondered what nature's purpose was with these sylphs; if it was simply showing off.

Ana's skin seemed bronzed by a benevolent sun. Serya knew how soft the nymph was, had felt an example of it only fifteen minutes ago when they embraced after three years apart. The sylph had eyes similar to Serya's own, angled, defined and observant, though they were lilac instead of brown. What had always amazed the druidess most, though, was the natural endurance and toughness built into this flower given humanoid form. She was beautiful in the way that harsh nature fosters beauty. Powerful, uncompromising and, in a sense, superior to all around her. Not so much a soldier as the product of a long life in the wild.

Perhaps most worrying of all, she was utterly shameless. All nymphs were. They only wore clothes when nearing civilization because they knew they made others uncomfortable, otherwise. Serya had frequently felt strong tinges of jealousy when observing the nymphs with their effortless, almost ethereally graceful movements and their inviting, full curves.

Anaharae had one particular abnormality that most unsettled Serya even while it made her mouth water. The nymph was a fully formed, functional and extremely well-endowed example of nature's occasional experimentation. The sylph had, Serya thought, the largest set of heavy, fat nuts she had ever seen. They were crowned with a shaft that appropriately seemed modeled on an ages-old tree trunk. A thick, cylindrical tube of meat that Serya had, on occasion, seen rock solid. She considered herself faithful, but could still not stop herself from admiring her companion. In fact, in the seventeen years she had been the guardian of the forest, she had almost constantly feared that she would be tempted too much.

In that way, it had been a blessing when the green dragon had come to the forest and heralded the start of her most recent adventure. At first, she had tried to reason with it. To make it adapt and become a part of the forest's ecosystem. It had refused with the arrogance she now knew was common to dragon-kind. When it had come to blows, she had been bested easily. Rather than kill her, however, the dragon had taken from her something very dear. Something she had been promised would be returned to her if she came back.

Serya reached down, pressing four fingers flatly against her rough, faded green clothes over the spot where the dragon's claw had sunk in to the first joint. She was barren, now. Infertile. A dead end in charge of the fountain of life that the forest was.

She had, of course, set out to drive the dragon off. Found allies, and been successful. It turned out that the creature was but one lieutenant in a much larger-scale operation, and she had dedicated the last three years to ending the evil that sought to take over the land. The battles had been many, and hard. And throughout them all, she had not so much thought of Harlan as she had thought of her forest home and the reward that waited there.

The druidess shook her head and picked her gnarled walking stick up from the tree it leaned against, swallowing the saliva that had pooled in her mouth while watching the shameless nymph. "Where do we start?"

The late summer heat had long since forced Serya to abandon her thick winter furs. Contrary to the nymphs, dryads and other sylvans, though, she still maintained a degree of modesty, clad in a coarse, very short skirt made of plant fiber. Her chest was covered in much the same way, almost bound by the wide band of cloth tied around her chest. Other than those two mud-brown lines, though, she was exposed to the scorching sun.

The light wind almost sounded like the forest sighing in relaxation at some of the stagnant heat being carried away. The black, rotted scars in the landscape at least served one good function by allowing fresh air to sink down between the trunks of firs, pines, ashes and oaks. Serya brushed a clingy lump of dirty, brown hair out of her face and breathed deeply.

She extended her arms to the sides, palms facing downwards. After a moment, when sweat began to bead on her forehead and on her lower eyelid, she closed her eyes. With another deep breath, she whispered a few sylvan words. An unknowing onlooker might have called it a prayer, but it was a request more than a plea. And the forest answered with a violence that those unacquainted with nature would have been surprised by.

Ankle-thick roots burst through the blackened crust on top of the earth on the outside of the blighted area, and then broke down through it again. Though she was still focusing and mumbling beseeching words, Serya cracked an angled, brown eye open to watch as innumerable, flexible and strangely animated roots snaked into the devastated area, constantly weaving up and down through the previously impenetrable, glass-like layer of rot.

"Nature finds a way," mumbled Anaharae next to her.

Serya had noticed a marked uptick in the nymph's mood over the past few months, corresponding with the improving state of the creature's home forest. The druidess cracked a faint smile for her own benefit, closing her eyes again. She curled her hands into fists and then began to lower them towards the ground, eventually kneeling as she pulled her arms closer and closer to the earth. There was physical effort involved in this, for her. As if she was dragging part of the burden. In a sense, she was, though she mostly coordinated.

There were splintering and dragging sounds in front of her, and much creaking of wood. When Serya looked up, the landscape was no longer a black coating, but rather a crisscross of naked earth dotted with black stalagmites. The invading roots were gone, pulled far underground, but they had taken a fair bit of the rot with them.

The elf stood, reaching up to wipe the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm. She glanced to the statuesque nymph, angling her head in a search for approval.

"That'll do for today," said Anaharae. She looked to the sweaty, rather small elf. "It's almost evening. Why don't you go bathe, and meet me here at sundown?"

"I could use a bath. Will you take care of something to eat?"

The nymph nodded and turned, soon disappearing between the healthy trunks at the edge of the scar. Serya surveyed her work again. The area was massive compared to the other blights in the land. She felt uncertain that simple spells would be enough. The stalagmites might end up as a permanent reminder of the cost nature paid for supporting its servants.

She ran a hand over her face, clearing it of beading sweat. When she glanced down, she smirked. Her hand was filled with mud rather than clear liquid. If she had looked like this back in the village, she probably would have been thought robbed, or worse. It was definitely time for a bath.

The stream was perhaps a mile away, and the druidess was in no hurry. The past few months had seen her work hard to clear the forest of the stains left behind by her prayers during the adventure, and it was not often that she had had the chance to just enjoy her home. The birds chirping, the insects humming, the rustle of leaves in wind, all of it made her feel safer than she ever had among her own kind. The solitude, too, was a blessing. She had never liked being surrounded by kin. Now, she only saw her family and her future husband once a year. And that was enough.

She arrived at the quietly clucking stream, and spent a moment with just her fingertips in the water, chuckling quietly as the fish curiously approached. All wildlife sensed that she was one of them, and all of them were eager to talk, and to make friends. The gentle nibbling of toothless jaws and the slightly slimy, firm sides rubbed against her fingers when the fish demanded petting always made her mood lighter.

After several minutes of stroking a small school of fish, and after sending a particularly insistent squirrel away, the elf removed what little clothes she wore and stepped into the stream. It was only at its deepest point that she had to swim to keep her head above water. Even so, she was careful with where she waved her feet, not wishing to upset the climate at the bottom of the water too much. The druidess glanced to the shore, laughter rising in her eyes as she saw the squirrel from before return, spilling nuts from its bulging cheeks. Part gift, part apology. She blew a kiss at it, and it disappeared again with a few happy farewell squeaks.

For a time, after having thoroughly washed her hair and body, the elf simply floated. Why would anyone live anywhere else? The forest gave everything willingly. Peace, solitude, shelter, food. It was even going to give her the most precious gift of all. The ability to carry life. Perhaps more specifically, Anaharae was going to give her that gift. An outside observer might have wondered why the nymph had followed her all spring and summer without helping, but Serya knew better.

The sylph was gathering power. What exactly for was unclear, but the goal was certainly fertility. These sorts of things always made her a bit nervous. The nymph was strong and attractive, and could easily lead her astray. Fertility mixed in, well, that just made it all even more hairy. The fey's considerable endowment would probably play some role, Serya knew. But what role, exactly? She was promised to Harlan, and intended to keep her promise.

That, of course, only made the temptation all the greater whenever the nymph shamelessly swung her gift around. Serya sighed and moved towards the shore, wringing her hair as she lazily ambled towards her minimal clothes. The nymph had long since promised not to betray her, and she trusted that promise. If Anaharae wanted to, she could have employed fey magic long ago. Used her stunning beauty, pheromones and charm cantrips to ensnare her druidess companion. No, she would not be a problem. Even so, sylvan rituals had a habit of being rather like those that carried them out. Shameless.

The walk back to the principal scar was less enjoyable. Not that it had changed in any real way. The air was cooling ever so slightly, some animals were preparing for night, but otherwise all was as it had been before. An inquisitive fox bounded alongside Serya for a few hundred steps, satisfied after she pointed it in the direction of a particularly overpopulated rodent's nest. It buffeted its head against her hand in thanks, and then slinked off to a small feast.

When she was taking her first steps as a druid, she had been horrified at this side of nature. Now, however, she viewed it more as regulation. Rather than allowing one part or another of the forest to fall into one state or another, she helped the wildlife regulate itself and, by extension, kept all of it healthy.

With the sun sinking in the sky, the heat was becoming bearable. She no longer constantly beaded sweat, and she could smell more than roasting plant life. In fact, Serya could detect the scent of what had to be dinner. Stew, with various coarse, forest vegetables and the remnants of a wild boar that they had taken a week back. She imagined the bronze, athletic nymph standing over the clay pot, stirring, and an extra spring made it into her step.

Serya heard no slight grating and banging of utensils against the hardened, burned clay of the pot as she got closer. Instead, she heard strained breathing and the occasional, muted expulsion of air. The elf stopped in her tracks and listened. After her heart calmed, she detected one other sound. A furious, smooth grinding of skin.

Though she had a fairly clear picture of what she would be walking into, Serya stepped closer regardless. Rounding a last, large trunk, she found that the picture had only been half right. Only a few yards in front of her, the tall, sculpted nymph stroked her fat, steely shaft with a swift, solid rhythm. That, in itself, was not something Serya had not walked in on before. What was alarming was the apparent target of the potent soup soon to be released from those large, hefty balls. The stew.

It seemed that Anaharae had not noticed the druidess coming back. Or, if she had, she did not make any detectable note of it. Rather, she slowly rocked back and forth, straining on her toes on moment, balancing on her heels the next, her toes curling. Occasionally the nymph pushed her pelvis forward, arching her back as she stroked rhythmically. It was only when her breathing turned from labored to a series of clearly needy, slightly withheld gasps that the sylph glanced to her right at the slack-jawed, staring elf.

Serya could not deny that the side of her that admired nature for all its adaptability, strength and endurance also enjoyed the sight of this nymph's powerful breeding tool. She only barely managed to tear her gaze from the almost hypnotic back and forth of Ana's hand to meet the dickgirl's firm gaze. The elf felt her cheeks color, warm and then burn, but she still did nothing; trapped by the nymph's gaze and insistent actions as much as she was by her own mental stammering.

Anaharae's gasps became strained grunts. The elf finally closed her mouth for a moment, swallowing. The bunching of muscles, the sweet cacophony of strong musk, the force of will, personal presence and physical beauty of her companion had her mesmerized, and she could only watch as those balls, each half again as large as an orange, raised and aided the transport of the sylph's thick, potent sludge.

The first powerful, full load made a splattering, liquid-y sound as it met the dark brown stew. As repeated, fat strands of seed followed the first, it became apparent that the spunk seemed to act almost like cream, lightening and fattening the natural sauce of the meal. The broth had already risen to twice its previous level by the time Serya managed to open her mouth.

"Wh- What are you..."

"Nnnh- You- Mmnh-"

The nymph obviously could not speak, interrupted constantly by jolts of orgasmic pleasure. Instead, Serya could only wait out the copious climax, watching with equal parts dread and illicit passion as the large ropes of spunk turned her meal from stew to soup. Even in the gradually dimming light, she could see a thin sheen of sweat covering the nymph's body as she ran a finger up the thick, central vein on the back of that log of a shaft, squeezing out the final, fat drops. Then, as if nothing unusual had happened, she let it drop back between her legs, still half-stiff, and turned to Serya.

The elf's voice was barely a squeak. "What- What was that about?"

Anaharae made a slow, sweeping gesture with her left hand, indicating the lively fire and the sloshing clay bowl. "First part of the ritual," she said. It seemed as if she waited for Serya to respond, but when stunned silence was the only thing shared between them, the nymph continued. "It's not like you would've gotten on your knees and milked it down your throat yourself, right? You've got that guy, that... That..."

"H-Harlan," said Serya. She swallowed and then pushed her tongue past her lips, eyes locked on the soupy mix. "Harlan."

"Mhm. You've got Harlan, but you want kids more than anything from what I recall. I just thought I'd make it easier for you and keep this secret."

"That's more than a little dishonest, Ana."

"Don't tell me you didn't know that a nymph ritual might involve carnal elements."

"Stop talking about it like that. You did not involve a carnal element, your just jerked off into our dinner."

"You have to ingest it. It catalyzes your body and makes you ready for the next steps," said Anaharae. She extended a few fingers toward the creamy, light-brown mixture.

"This is mad, Ana," said Serya. She wrestled her eyes from the steaming mix, letting them travel over the slightly sweaty and, she had to admit, quite inviting form presented in front of her, finally arriving at the nymph's lilac eyes. "Mad. Inappropriate, too. If Harlan knew I worked with a nymph-"

"Wait, wait. The man you're promised to doesn't know you work with a -nymph-?" The astonishment was laid bare by Anaharae's outburst. Her lips curled into a somewhat presumptuous smile. "You haven't... Told him. I imagine dear Harlan would be a lot more worried if he knew, hm?"

"Of course he would. He's not dumb," said Serya. She picked a small, deep saucer up from the stack near the fire and wrinkled her nose as she stirred the thick soup. When she spoke again, it was unclear whether she was addressing the nymph, herself, or no one at all. "Why am I even considering this?"

There was a long moment of silence, then Anaharae shrugged. "You want children. The dragon's poison made that impossible, and now you're being offered a way to make it possible again."

"Eating spunk will repair me, hm?"

"No, Serya. Like I said. It's a catalyst. It guides the energies of the ritual once your body has processed it."

"You realize how strange that sounds, don't you? And I don't say that lightly."

"The world will always have mysteries, even to the wise and powerful elves." The nymph's tone was mock-official, and her lips creased into a smirk.

Serya pushed against Anaharae's arm in faux annoyance, but ended up losing her own balance rather than forcing the sylph to move. She huffed, and then poured a generous spoonful of the thick, cloudy soup onto her plate. "This had better work, you know. If you're making me eat jizz just because it amuses you, I'm going to grate your nuts."

The nymph raised an eyebrow, stepping away with raised hands, palms facing the slender elf. "I'd never lie to you. Have I ever lied to you? No."

"Yes, you have."

"Alright, I have. But only about stuff that didn't matter. This is your future, Serya," said the nymph. She turned serious. "There are things too serious to joke about."

Serya sighed and let several more spoonfuls of warm soup-stew fill her plate. "Fine. I'll eat your ball-batter. But if you get hard while I do this, I'm going to kick your nuts in. Both of them."

"So violent, all of a sudden. Afraid Harlan will find out about your ~affair~?" The nymph crooned the last word, and then dodged out of the way of another half-hearted push from the smaller druidess.

"I remember when you treated me with respect," mumbled Serya.

Anaharae chirped a swift response. "I don't!"

To Serya's surprise, the soup did not taste sour, salty, metallic or anything else she had imagined it might after seeing the sheer amount of thick strands the nymph had pumped into it. Rather, in spite of the vegetables and meat, it tasted sweet; a strange combination of the muted greens, the strong meat and a sugary-sweet, apple-like taste. She had caught that scent around Anaharae many times before, but never thought to make the connection that that was her seed. It made sense, though. Nature's most attractive species was bound to have a few unseen bonus tricks up their sleeves. Serya knew some of them, but had never imagined this one.

Living in a mostly temperate forest, she did not have much chance to taste relatively purified, sugary tastes. The closest was honey, but even that was not something she could always get her hands on. As much as she wrinkled her nose at the mere suggestion, the nymph's spunk could actually pass as a sort of rarified delicacy. Candy. If it had not been for the source, she would have gone out to gather a stockpile of it right away.

In spite of these thoughts, though, Serya poked at the food more than she ate. She kept up the appearance of being rather glum at having to consume the lewd meal expertly, occasionally sending piercing glances at the apparently unconcerned nymph who ate the soup with no apparent reservations.

Perhaps ten minutes after first sitting down to eat, Serya began to feel a warmth in her stomach that seemed unconnected with the heat of the meal. She set down the half-full plate and pushed a few fingers against her flat belly, searching for the wide, tough scar tissue that covered the entry point where the dragon's claw had dug in those three years ago. To her surprise, it seemed to be loosening up and dissipating. For a short moment, she felt a tinge of panic. What if the wound opened up again?

No such thing happened, of course. Instead, the scar tissue disappeared entirely, leaving behind soft, regular skin. In the flickering light of the fire, she looked down at her bare stomach. As wild as it might have seemed, consuming the nymph's spunk had genuinely started to transform her body. The heat from the former wound moved deeper, and soon, Serya's cheeks colored. She was glad of the fire, then, its fickle light hiding her blush fairly well.

True to its nymph nature, whatever power Anaharae had imbued in her orgasm now sought out its natural outlet, beginning to make the druid's sex tingle and heat up. She shifted nervously, shooting a glance at the sculpted sylvan creature sitting across from her, on the other side of the fire. They could smell a great many more things than she, the nymphs. Arousal as well, Serya knew.

Nevertheless, she resolved not to make anything more of it if Ana did not, picking up her plate to finish the meal. She hid her light gasps behind a quick pace of spoonfuls, occasionally scouting for a reaction. One time, she was sure she saw the nymph's lips crease in a self-satisfied smile, but when the elf blinked and looked again, it was gone.

They typically shared a camp for the night. During winter, they would sleep close to each other. Serya was doubly glad for the warmth of late summer that evening, though. It was all she could do not to grind her thighs against each other as she found her coarse, home-made covers and the relatively soft piles of hay she used for a mattress. They said their goodnights from either side of the dying fire, and the elf quietly hoped that her need would not keep her up.

Something was waking her up. Not something threatening. Somehow, she knew that. But something that was not quite normal. Serya tried to shake her head, but found that to be almost impossible, as if she was moving through molasses. Groggily she cracked one eyelid open. The other would not open, for some reason. Something was blocking it. She groaned and tried to shake her head again, but once more found it very difficult. This time, though, she felt the reason why. A pair of soft but insistent hands held her head, one squashing each pointy ear against the side of her head.

"A-Ana? What're you..."

The nymph shushed her, adjusting her position slightly. It was not until now, bleary-eyed and half-blinded by the darkness of night as she was, that Serya realized what exactly was going on. "Ana, tell me you aren't-"

"Ritual."

"Waking me up in the middle of the night with your dick resting on my face isn't part of any hells-damned ritual, and you know it!"

There was a moment of silence before the nymph responded. In that moment, Serya felt the first tendrils of overpowering musk begin to overwhelm her senses. The nymph was beginning to use her natural advantages. "You ate it, so it's inside. It needs to be outside as well."

"Really," said Serya. Her voice was as flat as she could make it. "And I suppose coming all over my face is just what's needed? Or better yet, stuffing your balls into my mouth. If I'd known you'd get into this madness, I would've found another way to-"

"There is no other way. Stay still," said Anaharae, firmly holding the squirming elf in place.

The truth was, Anaharae had probably not needed the pheromonal assault on Serya's senses. The elf had secretly wanted something like this almost from the moment she first laid eyes on the nymph, but had always held herself back from pursuing anything. She was already promised to someone, after all. It was improper. Socially, based on civilized norms, it was improper. Of course, the side of her that appreciated nature in all its forms also pushed her towards the graceful nymph almost every day. That was the side of her that frequently imagined being forcefully rutted by the powerful sylph, the side that told her that it would only be right for her to be with a strong individual that could ensure her safety, and ensure healthy offspring.

She started to lift her arms, but her elbows bumped against Anaharae's knees. The nymph had apparently, somehow, managed to worm the elf in between her thighs far enough to rest that fat log of a cockshaft on her face without being noticed at all. If Ana wanted, she could probably use her thighs to hold Serya exactly where she wanted. But that was not happening. Instead, the sharp smell of sex was filling the druidess' nostrils, pheromones convincing her body to accept the nymph even though she needed no real convincing.

Another moment passed, and then the elf's shoulders finally sank, relaxing in Anaharae's arms. The civilized part of her brain was yelling about how undignified and wrong this was. The wilder, more primal side was responsible for making her enjoy the sensation of smooth, soft skin covering the entire left side of her face. It made her smile faintly at each light throb, the weight a sign of health and power. She was more concerned with the feral, sexual strength of her partner than the inconvenience it might be to have those thick, huge balls depositing scent in her hair. She could almost imagine the rushing power coming from them as they emptied, pumping into some lucky girl.

When Anaharae started to grind back and forth softly, smearing sweet musk against the slender elf's features even more insistently, Serya almost let herself relish in it. Though she still could not utter a devoted phrase to the nymph, she could not stop the biological appreciation of her muscled form. When a hand reached down and curled halfway around that mammoth shaft, lifting it only a few inches to begin jerking back and forth, she almost felt deprived of something she needed.

The nymph raised up slightly, resting on her knees and feet, her toned thighs taut as her heavy, fat nuts dragged up across the girl's face. The thick, churning cumfactories settled over Serya's pouty lips, spilling over her chin. To the tune of the sylph's strong, solid jerks, they bounced lightly, readying to unleash yet again.

For each time a little patch of skin ground against the elf's face, more pheromones settled on her and penetrated her skin, filling her bloodstream and taking over her brain. Chances were Anaharae knew exactly what was happening, but she was not taking advantage. It was still about the ritual, Serya mumbled, the movement of her lips letting the nymph's bulging balls slip into her mouth just a little.

At last, the elf gave in and let the final bit of resistance crumble. Serya let out a shuddering breath and lifted her quivering arms, slowly moving them up towards her head. By the time the tip of her middle finger pushed against Anaharae's tense pelvis, the thick, bulbous cockhead reached almost to the druidess' elbow. She could feel its warmth against her skin all the way, even if she could not see much due to the heavy orbs resting against her face.

Though her fingers could only just about envelop half of the girthy shaft, Serya shamelessly set about jerking off the very base of the nymph's fat dick. She even parted her lips further, slowly letting more of the sylph's churning nuts into her warm maw. Anaharae's strong, rhythmic throbs seemed to become more intense as they now both coaxed and rubbed the woman towards an eventual climax, and it was not long before Serya started hearing the strained, briefly withheld breaths and groans that signaled that the nymph was fast approaching orgasm.

She briefly considered that the band of cloth covering her chest would be covered, but the thought slipped her mind soon enough. The powerful scent from the nymph's fat cock and bulging balls overpowered all sentience, demanding the attentions of hesitant, delicately manipulating fingers and lips. It was Anaharae's own masturbation that brought her to orgasm, but she let the girl between her thighs worry about keeping it going, instead planting one hand against the ground for support, using the other to point that broad, immense shaft downwards.

The relative quiet of deep night was broken by ragged, reverberating moans as the nymph exploded into orgasm. Serya was at the center of the biological machinery, coaxing, pushing and admiring the powerful contractions and bunching of muscle.

The force with which the first load splattered against her supple, lightly tanned skin was almost bruising, and left no doubt that the nymph was more than capable of ensuring that children were sired in any union. As wrong as she knew such thoughts were, they were still summoned forth from the more animal, deep reaches of her mind, and she enjoyed the sensation of power that accompanied each sweltering, copious load of seed.

A crisscross of sludgy lines was soon painted across her flat stomach, the strands reaching from her covered breasts and down to her slightly protruding hipbones. Thick, seemingly almost chewy bits of virile seed flowed off her body to either side, forming sluggish pools of goo. Serya could scarcely imagine what would have happened if such a titanic load had been released inside of her. The mere thought made her shudder.

For a long while after the nymph had finished her copious orgasm, the two sat there, breathing deep. Their proximity seemed to make it that much harder to calm down. In the end, when Anaharae gently lowered Serya's head back down onto her hay bedspread, she was still rock hard and, seemingly, ready to go. How those mouth-watering, massive balls would manage another creamy show so soon after the last was unclear, but there was no doubt in the elf's mind that they could.

"Let it... Sink into your skin," said Anaharae. Her lopsided smile was almost imperceptible in the dark. "Only a few more days of this, and you'll be ready."

Serya could not summon up the will to be angry. She was unsure whether it was her or the cocktail of sweet seed and pheromones, but she did not entirely dread having to go through this multiple times. In the end, she shrugged lightly. "It's... What has to be done, right?"

The nymph did not answer, instead running the back of a few fingers over the girl's slightly damp forehead before returning to her own sleeping space. Serya swallowed, and though she had been told to leave it alone, she prodded a sticky pool of seed gathered in her bellybutton. She had imagined that it would feel slimy and uncomfortable to be covered, but it did not. The clingy ropes of spunk felt more like soft fabric against her skin than slop or slime.

After a few minutes of playing with the creamy load covering her front, she sighed again, and resigned herself to sleep.

The next five days were a blur. During the day, she worked hard at cleaning up the destruction her adventure had brought. When evening rolled round, she found herself watching Anaharae slather and coat their dinner in her sweet, fertile sludge. The first evening, she had thought of her betrothed with every bite. By the fifth, she had to struggle to remember what he looked like.

She was unsure of whether the nymph intended it or not, but her nutbutter was having a very profound effect. By the third day of consuming it, Serya felt almost constantly horny. She had begun spending more time furtively masturbating than fulfilling her duties, and even admitted to herself that she looked forward to their nightly sessions, even though they were never quite like the first.

Night two and three, Anaharae had moved to Serya's side, resting her broad shaft on the druidess' bare skin and letting loose the powerful, rhythmic ropes from the side, painting over the slender elf's waist with crude, off-white cream. By the fourth night, Serya had worked off her undergarments and was shamefully, needily masturbating while the nymph rubbed and ground against her. The fifth night, the sylph moved down between her legs.

The night before, Anaharae had dispensed with all pretense, having Serya offer up a bowl for her to empty her nuts into. The bowl had, of course, overflowed within seconds, onto the girl's hands where the sticky, potent seed hung in long strands, the heady, sweet, almost cloying scent filling the nostrils and overpowering all else. Even though she had been shaking at first, the druid had leaned forward and dug into this entirely inappropriate meal. The thin and entirely inadequate excuse seemed very real to her. It was all with a purpose. To be able to bear children.

Even that was flimsy, though. The thought of her betrothed had become slippery. During some moments, his face eluded her entirely. When she lewdly sucked up thick ropes of Anaharae's spunk, he was still very clear in her mind, though. But it was as a judge. She was filth, now, he told her. Lowering herself so much. She did not care. Her veins burned with lust. She could barely sleep that night, after the fourth preparation for the ritual. Despite all her efforts, despite burning need coursing through her as the nymph blasted thick strings of pearly cum over her, she had been unable to come. Covered in blankets now, with the nymph on the other side of the fire, she had surreptitiously tried to remedy that, but had only been met with frustration.

The next morning, the forest seemed especially loud and bright. Serya was on edge. During breakfast alone, she was attacked by goose bumps four times. And each time, she almost doubled over as the incessant warmth in her sex simply would not coalesce and become the hard waves of pleasure she needed. The entire day was spent grumpy, squinting at the clear summer sun. When she bathed, the water felt too cold. Or she was too hot. It was not from heatstroke.

When it was time for the preparation that night, her hands were quaking as they removed the cloth covering her. Everything was thrown into a small pile near her bed before she sat again, staring into the nymph's calm, lilac eyes. Like two combatants attempting to mentally subdue the other, they sat there for several minutes. The apparent winner was, as it had been the preceding four nights, Serya. All she won, however, was the muscled forest sprite's attentions.

That fifth night, though, Anaharae kneeled on some strewn hay, her hands touching the druidess' inner thighs with deceptive tenderness. The nymph urged her to spread her legs more than she physically suggested it. Somewhere in Serya's mind, a baritone voice that she had once known to belong to her betrothed told her to stop this madness. It was a weak attempt, though, something that an entire day's worth of unrelenting need easily overpowered.

Raising herself on her elbows, she whispered with a shaky voice. "I need you."

The nymph's hands finally had a little bit of the creature's strength behind them. With baited breath, Serya watched Anaharae as she was handled. Had the nymph always been this beautifully feral? Corded muscle hid just beneath the creature's light tan, aiding and accentuating her strong, feminine allure while somehow still underscoring her power.

The elf's eyes drifted up to those intense, lilac pools as steady hands wrapped around her thighs, lifting them just an inch over the ground before pushing them to the sides. The sweltering heat of midday had subsided by now, the sun only barely peeking above the treeline, but Serya felt as if she was caught in the noon sun. Anaharae's kneeling form drew a long shadow from the setting sun and the fire to her side.

Just as their shadows began to become long enough to reach the nearest tree, they seemed to merge. Very slowly, Anaharae had pulled Serya's scorching body closer, widening the gap between her thighs until the elf's legs were practically at a right angle. When their bodies touched, when the nymph's athletic thighs rubbed against the druid's sensitive inner thighs, she felt a jolt of pleasure that had eluded her for a full day. She reached down, but was unable to touch the sylph with more than her fingertips. Even that was enough to signal what she needed, though. Closer. I need you.

"Please," said Serya. It was all she could manage.

"Shh..."

It was not a condescending hush. Rather, she was being promised all she wanted, if only she would wait. With elbows almost buckling under her and her heart racing, she swallowed. Serya's eyes flickered between those all-consuming purple orbs and the nymph's strong torso, and that fat, erect pillar jutting out from her pelvis. It seemed that it drew closer with each passing second, but at a torturously slow pace. The elf let her head fall backwards, letting out a frustrated, warm gasp. She did not want to wait.

She did not have to. With one hard, forward movement that relegated her thighs to lie halfway up the nymph's own legs, Anaharae plowed up against the elf's cunt, the broad, hefty shaft grinding directly against her clit.

The sensation was so very near orgasm that Serya's mind blanked, her mouth lolling open as a dumb-founded, interrupted gasp spilled out of her. Her elbows finally buckled, collapsing her onto the blankets and hay beneath as her eyes rolled, her hands once again raising in feeble demand that the nymph do more.

As the fire's light took over for the sun, the sweet scent of the sylph's pre filling the air and mixing with the dry nothingness of dirt and burning wood, Anaharae shifted closer, her impressively heavy nuts coming to rest against the elf's sex. The nymph still ground against her writhing partner, but masturbated at the same time, even her hand unable to reach around the fat, towering dick.

Serya would have protested if she had been able, but the insistent rubbing against her, the feeling of weight behind the pressure against her, kept her just immersed enough in near-orgasmic pleasure that she could not formulate anything but entirely uncivilized, needy moans. She had taken to clawing with her fingertips at her own heaving chest, handling one full breast with a rough kneading, her digits finding the sheer, pink nipple to squeeze gently.

The minutes dragged on, the nymph coming closer and closer to the torturously blissful state her touch left the elf in with each solid pump on her thick length. With sweat beading on her forehead and the slender girl writhing in pleasure in front of her, she still found the time to smile at something. What exactly the smile was for was impossible to determine, but it seemed insidious in some way. Self-serving. The smile was, however, interrupted by a strained grunt.

Though only partly aware of her surroundings, Serya could sense the new urgency that had come over Anaharae. And when the nymph half doubled over, still stroking her bulging, steely shaft, the small elf knew what was coming. She welcomed it, even. The sylph was not even attempting to aim for her stomach, but it did not matter. The last few seconds, as Anaharae had obviously drawn closer to orgasm, Serya had felt the shackles on her own bucking pleasure loosen.

Finally, when she saw the thumb-thick vein on the back of that fat slab of meat indent, when the first pure, white rope of seed lanced through the air and splattered against her torso and into the low chasm between her breasts, she was set free.

Instinctively, Serya wrapped her calves around the nymph's strong body. in reality, she only had little control, her body clamping down onto the sylph's rhythmically pulsing figure. After an entire day of frustration, she was at last allowed release, pleasure at first emanating from where their bodies touched, but soon lashing through her in hard, demanding waves. She twisted, writhed and moaned, her only thought that she wished the nymph would lean down and hold her while she thrashed in consuming pleasure.

Her moans stopped and started, the pounding of her heart struggling to take the forefront with arching pleasure, the only other feeling penetrating her hazy mind being that of repeated, splattering strands of seed landing on her overheated skin. The nymph's body felt cool against hers in those moments, her fingertips once again managing to push against Anaharae's strong, muscled form, getting a feeling of it as it almost mechanically pumped those large, thick loads, half so powerful that they overshot her, the others landing heavily on her body.

She had no idea how much time had passed when she came down to some degree, but she could feel the weight of the crisscrossing seed on her physically. Clearly, she had not been the only one saving up. There was some illicit pride in that thought. As if the nymph was her prize stallion. As wrong as that thought might be, it still lingered. She reached up to wipe sweat and a wayward stripe of seed from her brow, the sounds of the forest beginning to come back to her. Buzzing of insects, the last chirps of birds staying up late, and the light rustle of a treetop breeze.

Finally, she looked down, seeing the nymph's still proudly erect shaft slowly drooling seed down onto the pool that had collected on her stomach. It was slowly running off both sides of her. What worried her was that Anaharae still possessively held her thighs and stared at her. The calm and intensity was still there, but there was a predatory element as well.

"We need to finish the ritual, Serya. Tonight."

"But we just... Can't you at least give me a little while to w-"

"Tonight."

Anaharae bent forward slightly, one hand curling far enough around Serya's thigh to fold around the underside. The nymph's other hand snaked between bedding and damp skin, fingers spreading between the druid's shoulderblades. She squirmed a little, trying to lean her body and head away from the overpowering presence over her. There was little to do, though. She was small compared to the sylph, and there seemed to be no reservations about the mess of stringy seed covering her front.

The nymph rose to her feet and leaned Serya closer to her. She had started walking by the time the elf hesitantly wrapped her arms around the sculpted woman's neck, elbows and chin resting on the sylph's shoulders. The bumpy journey was not long, but every step of the way, Serya could feel the still pre-oozing shaft grind against her lower body. In some ways, she wanted out. The trouble was, there was no obvious way to get free. And even if she did, would the nymph chase her? There would be no contest between the two when it came to speed or strength.

Anaharae carried Serya into the cracked and half-cleaned scar in the landscape, walking between black stalagmites until she came upon a relatively clear, circular spot near the center of the desolate area. Here, the nymph kneeled and lowered the druidess down, the elf's firm butt flattening a little against the barren, hard earth. With their lower bodies still practically glued together, Anaharae began to ease Serya onto the ground, into much the same position as the one they had just occupied.

This time, however, the nymph withdrew backwards rather than insistently grinding up against Serya's molten, needy sex. Seed and her nectar mixed to a degree that it would have been worrying if she was fertile. She swallowing, eyes widening as she realized what the fae was doing. Positioning herself to thrust into the exposed, prone elf. Before Serya's raising hand could reach the nymph's skin to push a protesting touch against it, she felt the creature's index and middle finger gently push against her clit. She snapped for breath as they began to push.

Then, building rapidly from that push into a flood wave of conquering pleasure, a punishing ecstasy lashed through her, causing her to first grit her teeth and arch her back, then fall back against the ground limply, raising her head, her chest too tight to let a sound out in spite of parted lips. Her fingers curled before they found purchase against the nymph's skin, and finally she managed a hoarse, tortured moan. Her body was locking up in reflexive, orgasmic motions until the nymph eased off the pressure.

"Nh... Ah- Anah, I ch- nnngh!"

At her beginning protests, the nymph pushed against her again. Through sapping, almost frighteningly powerful jolts of pleasure, she managed to send a pleading, brief look up at Anaharae. The sylph's expression was the same intense and calm one that she had had for minutes, now. It brooked no disobedience. She eased off again, and Serya slumped against the ground once more, sweat sheening her body once more as she gasped for breath.

"I... I c-can't, Ana. H-Harl- Nnnnh! Aaah!"

The name of her betrothed seemed to be the catalyst for a longer-lasting, insistent push that that was so intense as to leave Serya gasping. Tears had begun to form, trailing over her cheeks freely. She was too weak with pleasure to stop the nymph, but she still tried again, shaking fingers landing against the sylph's toned stomach.

"A-Ana, please. I can't-"

Again the nymph pushed against her clit, gyrating and varying the pressure this time, enough that the induced pleasure cascaded into a helpless, shaking orgasm. Serya's eyes rolled up again, her arms thrashing. This time, however, she got her wish. Anaharae leaned down over her, strong arms wrapping around hers to capture and hold her still. And in the middle of her rhythmic, tear-inducing climax, the nymph started to press that elbow-thick, steely shaft in.

As control gradually came back to Serya, she pressed her fingers against the sylph's back, shaking her head and trying to vocalize. "Ah... Anah... Y-you can't, I'mh... I'm promised to-"

The nymph moved one hand up to brush a sticky, sweaty lock of hair out of Serya's face. Anaharae leaned down and kissed the druid's cheeks, each in turn, removing the salty tears and finalizing with a long-held kiss against her quivering lips.

"I won't do anything you don't want," she whispered.

Despite those words, despite the elf craning her neck and whimpering quietly in discomfort at the stretching, vast girth that was slowly rocking and plowing into her, Anaharae continued. She put more strength and weight behind each thrust, once again planting her lips over the quietly gasping girl's mouth, sharing another forced kiss.

In spite of her intentions, Serya started to feel the block of ice in the pit of her stomach melting. It seemed every touch the nymph lavished on her broke her will down a little more, even if they did not convince her that what was happening now was wrong. Regardless of how close they had been to sex before, they still had not done it. Now...

"Y-you can't, Ana- I promised h... Harlan-"

"I won't," whispered the nymph. She pressed her lips against Serya's again for a long moment. "I'll pull out. It's just the ritual, I promise. I won't come inside you, I promise."

Serya still squirmed, but there was little she could do except slowly dig her nails into Anaharae's firm back and try to spread her legs to ease the brutal, broad shaft's entry. She tried to relax, but found it made no difference from tensing. The nymph's mammoth shaft was simply too large, too filling. The pre lazily oozed from the tip as it continued to grind in.

At last, the ridge of the nymph's fat cock-crown slipped in, causing her to groan in pleasure down into Serya's neck. The warmth and vibration spread throughout the elf's body, but it was not enough to mask the feeling of a single, sludgy strand of seed lashing into her clenching cunt, pooling for a moment against her cervix before rolling away. Immediately, the fear returned to the slender girl, her body arching, her fingers digging into Anaharae's back in protest.

"Nnnh-No, y-you promised!"

"It's-Mnh, It's... Nothing," said the nymph, her voice quaking slightly with pleasure.

Serya's toes curled, her teeth gritting. What little space there was left in her grew smaller and smaller for each moment. What had been a puddle became a sea of pre and spunk, rolling against the entrance to her womb. It was forgotten, however, when she felt the sylph's fat cockhead bruise up against her cervix. It did not stop. It demanded entrance. Impossibly, it kept pushing, grinding and jamming in.

She craned her neck, her mouth opening to let out a strained, teary gasp. While Anaharae's one hand stayed behind the elf's back, the other trailed to the girl's pelvis. The nymph whispered the words to some small fae cantrip. The effect was anything but small. Serya's eyes rolled up as the barrier to her womb grew soft and then, reacting to a particularly hard thrust, began to give way. Slowly, curling and massaging over the fat fuckpole's thick crown, the druidess' cervix was defeated, allowing the sylph entrance to her most sacred core.

For a moment, she could neither breathe in or out. The nymph took the opportunity, stretching into another hard, plowing thrust, burying Serya's head at her neck, truly letting the slender elf feel how much her fate was in the hands of her companion. She still could not find word or sound as inch upon girthy inch pushed in, filling her to the brim and beyond. At last, the druid simply gasped against Anaharae's skin, closing her eyes, almost unwilling to believe what was happening. And throughout it all, the nymph continually murmured.

"I won't, I promise. You'll stay pure. I would never..."

In her defeated state, Serya could only cling to that desperate and altogether feeble hope. Even when the nymph's brutal, hilting thrusts began and forced strained moans out of her, she held on to that silly belief, held on to the sweet nothings whispered into her pointy ears. Together with the fae, she rocked heavily back and forth, beginning to cling to the sylph's body more than fight it.

But even as she was, she could sense that Anaharae's movements grew needier. She could sense withheld grunts in the woman's body, and knew what they meant. Serya's fingers once again dug into the nymph's skin, whimpering and mewling at the punishing strength laid into her defenseless, overstuffed form.

"D-don't, Anah. Ph-please... Don't."

"I-ngh, I... I won't- mmnh," groaned Anaharae, not letting up for a single second.

Serya's fingers dug deeper, but she could not stop it. She tried to push the nymph's erratic, solid thrusts away, but could not stand up to the weight and adamantine strength in the fae's body. And then, Anaharae's grunts, heat and rocking spilled over. Serya could feel the change, how muscles bunched up, how the woman's fat shaft grew fatter still in preparation. She pushed, struggled and fought to get away, but she was held close in an iron grip, cradled against the gasping sylph as she rolled and thrusted into orgasm.

The first sweltering, long, virile load was the clearest in Serya's mind. She could feel the thick strand impact inside, and could feel the added weight of the massive load as it began to pool around the vast cockshaft buried inside her so deep that the nymph's balls almost began to stuff in with it.

She cried out, her fingers spasming a little. She could not stop her clamped, reflexive hold of the groaning nymph who still whispered her promises not to come inside even as fat strings of fertile seed blasted into Serya's womb. Thousands, millions of strong swimmers swarmed the elf's released eggs, surrounded them. And even then, the nymph just continued to explosively unload rope upon thumb-thick rope, her balls churning as they emptied.

Fat drops of seed began to emerge around the hilt of the nymph's shaft, pooling in the room between Anaharae's balls and Serya's body for a moment, only to be released as the fae leaned up to sit on her heels. There was no longer room for her to hold the druid close, the girl's formerly taut, flat belly growing a dome of sloshing, potent seed.

Even as those massive loads died down, the sylph still held herself balls deep in Serya, gasping and only occasionally pumping a little in and out, perhaps to utterly ensure that her seed was given all the time it needed. When she finally, slowly pulled out, she was accompanied only by a little of the copious gift she had given the elf, the rest remaining inside to complete the ritual.

After wiping away sweat from her brow, Anaharae gently laid her right hand on top of the girl's bulging belly, smirking down at the only half-conscious druid. "The next five years are going to be fun."

"Wh... Whah?"

The nymph chuckled. "Consuming the seed of a nymph ties your body to her. For five years after, you can only climax when she allows it." Anaharae stroked the slightly wobbly dome on Serya's belly before adding. "You were fertile within five minutes of eating that first meal. Everything past that was just preparation for this. I'll be surprised if you don't at least have triplets."

Serya could not think of a response. With her body so full of sloshing, potent spunk, she could hardly think at all. Mothering the nymph's children might have been a way of repaying the destruction she wrought. It might just have been Anaharae's whim. Regardless, she knew that she could not go back to her betrothed now. Besides, the half-nymph children would never feel at home in any kind of village.

She groaned and shifted, glancing around her in the darkness. Their creating life together had, somehow, reignited the previously barren dirt. Grass, flowers and budding trees had shot up all around them, some even cracking through the black rot that still covered the landscape in places. Serya closed her eyes again. Before drifting off to exhausted sleep, she felt the nymph lie next to her, sharing warmth. She could have had worse sires for her children.

 **Prayers of Perversion**

"They're back!"

Sister Filippa hurried past, her worn and cracked sandals quickly beginning to squelch in the fouled, soapy water covering the mosaic floor. Ea looked up, wiping the sweat from her brow. She looked after the eager sister for a moment, keeping her face carefully neutral. It was not appropriate to show anything but mild, innocent happiness as long as the abbess was in the nearby vestry, hearing everything said and done.

Filippa's unseemly elation had not given the impression that any of the knights were injured, and that let Ea's spirit soar a little higher. She had not seen, spoken or even written a letter to Petra for over a month, now. With the duchy in chaos due to minor wars of succession, local peacekeeping had fallen to the churches, temples and monasteries. In order to keep their patrols safe, it was forbidden to bring messages back and forth unless you were a knight. And which knight was going to carry a steamy love-letter from a young priestess to a crusader-knight keeping the peace, muddied to her knees?

Ea wrung the sponge and dropped it into the grimy water with a light splash. An appropriate amount of time had passed since Filippa's passing through. She rose, rubbed her face in her hands and then walked past the altar with a spring in her step and left the sanctuary behind. The day's public ceremony was over, and all the pews had been moved aside and stacked against the walls, halfway up to the arrow slit windows. Ea's sandals left wet, dark brown imprints on the large, uneven stones set as floor here. The abbess would have complained if she had seen, but Ea was more concerned with sating the bubbly butterfly feeling in her stomach than with what the old shrew thought.

"Sister Magoria!"

Ea's heart sank as she turned. It was the abbess, clad in loose, rich magenta robes, with high cheekbones and milky, near-blind eyes. "Yes, abbess?"

"You have yet to finish cleansing the sanctuary, and the kitchens need help afterwards. You are a priestess, not some flush-faced initiate."

Ea contained a disappointed sigh, bowing her head and closing her eyes. "Yes, abbess. I'm sorry."

"Sorry will not do the work for you, priestess. There will be plenty of time to speak to the crusader-knights tomorrow, at breakfast. Get back to work," said the wiry abbess.

Ea bowed her head deeper and then, when the old woman still waited for her to get back to work, suppressed another sigh and tracked her way back through the nave to the sanctuary where the dirty water still half-filled the slightly leaky bucket. The abbess disappeared again. Ea sank down to her knees, plopped her left hand into the bucket with enough force that it spilled onto her white robes, and started work again.

Occasionally, she glanced to the faded wall-paintings filling the sanctuary behind the altar. They depicted a white-haired, shining, tall lady descending from the heavens to heal the sick and help the poor. That woman, the goddess, was everything Ea was not. But she was a worthy ideal. The church, on the other hand, the goddess' mortal arm, was embroiled in politics; both petty personal grudges and the larger schemes that had to do with the land and duchy.

After a few moments of silent scrubbing, Ea forced herself into humming a quiet hymn. It would soothe the abbess, and might take her mind off Petra and the other returning knights. They would find a way to meet yet. If not in the kitchens, then later. She began putting more effort into the hymn and the scrubbing, blue eyes sparkling a little in the reflection from the water.

Petra had walked through the nave accompanied by a few other returning knights. Ea almost did not catch them, the armored men and women very quiet considering the amount of plate and metal covering them. Ea only barely managed to catch Petra's eyes, mouthing 'kitchen, later' before the tall woman was gone. For a moment, they had shared an emotional connection. Ea knew that Petra wanted to see her as bad as she wanted to see the knight. She also knew that Petra was drilled and disciplined far more thoroughly than a priestess, so it would be up to said priestess to ensure that they had a little private time if push came to shove.

The abbess sullenly approved her job cleaning the floor and unpainted walls of the sanctuary a few minutes later; reminding her what an honor it was to be allowed to work on the goddess' holiest. Ea was sent off to the kitchens with vapid encouragements.

The few philosophy lessons Ea's class had had made her think otherwise. She had never seen the goddess' work done in the sanctuary or nave, just a lot of proselytizing and espousing of her greatness. The work was done in the hospital. In the kitchens. During the rare visits to local villages to treat those too sick to come to the temple.

Likewise, Ea had never understood the church's ban on carnal relations. They justified it with what had happened to the last avatar their goddess had sent down. Suffering and on the verge of death, the goddess had asked her crusader lover to end the avatar's life. Tragic as it was, the bond between the two lovers was strong enough that the knight did as her goddess wished. The church took away from that that love was dangerous. Ea took away that love was a powerful, perhaps the most powerful, force in the world.

The few times she had mentioned her musings to Petra, she had received little in the way of answer. The knight had always said that the world was very different to what Ea imagined. Outside the temple, love was secondary to a lot of things. It was as if their relationship was a vice to Petra. The only vice she allowed herself to have. Even so, during moments like the one they had shared in the sanctuary, Ea knew that that was not the case. What they had might be against church law, against common decency, but it could not possibly be against the goddess' will.

Built like a sort of castle, everything in the church was connected via enclosed stone walkways or walled courtyards. The further one got from the main religious areas, the less pompous and more fortress-y it got. Crenellated walls, piles of rocks, ammunition stores all dotted around the otherwise pleasantly green squares in the inner courtyards. The temple had not been besieged for over twenty years, only two years after Ea was born. Since then, the worst they had had was a few violent drunks that the knight guards had dealt with. It seemed a waste of space in the otherwise manicured and pretty garden courtyards to stack tools of war around.

She shook her head, pushing the door open to the main kitchen. A large, rectangular and very steamy room. Cooking hot food in a room that had to be able to withstand a siege did not make for a pleasant interior climate. Ea had barely closed the door before she began to feel sweat form on her forehead. Perhaps it was just the damp air clinging to her, though it was practically impossible to tell the difference.

"Sister, we need more potatoes peeled," said sister Sophia, a middle-aged and kind woman in charge of the daily meal to the poor.

"Right away, sister," said Ea.

Her brief interruptions in cleaning the sanctuary had made her the last arrival, and the worst job was always saved for the last arrival. Today, she did not mind. She had hoped for it. If Petra could get away for just five minutes, the sink where the vegetables were dealt with was sequestered enough that they might be able to have a few moments to themselves.

By the time Ea heard the door to the kitchen open again, she was almost done with the potatoes and had started worrying that Petra might not have understood her properly back in the sanctuary. What could 'kitchens' have been understood as instead? That fear was dispelled when the heavy steps of plated feet could be heard coming closer to where she stood. Ea breathed in, let the potato she was working on drop into the sink and wiped her wrinkling, wet fingers in her robe before turning.

The knights were allowed certain freedoms that others were not, usually under the pretense of martial training or requirements. How Petra had been allowed her haircut was still a mystery to Ea, but she had grown to love it all the same. One side of the tall, armored woman's head was shaved down to only a few millimeters of hair. The rest of it was covered with thick, healthy red-brown tresses. It was wild and unorganized right now due to Petra having worn a helmet, but it was still the thing Ea loved the most.

Casting a glance around at nothing in particular, shielded from view as they were by a short wall, Ea took in a deep breath. After looking into Petra's amber eyes for another second, she bounded forward and buried her happy squeal in the woman's pale grey leather surcoat. She felt plated arms wrap around her and hold her tight. The sharp angles of the armor digging in did not matter, at least not in that moment.

Another moment, and Ea leaned her head back and looked up. She ran her right index finger down the bridge of Petra's frequently broken and mended nose, smiling faintly as the knight's eyelid fluttered a little.

"Why do you always do that?"

Ea did not answer, instead standing on the tips of her toes to kiss the much taller crusader. The priestess' hands dug into Petra's red-brown locks, and she felt a gloved hand come to rest on her own shoulder-length brown hair, quietly thankful that the woman did not try to weave her mailed hand further in. They had tried that once, and spent the following half hour freeing Ea's hair from chain and plate.

The priestess inhaled deeply, catching the scent of the outside world from Petra's armor and clothes. Wet leather, mud, the freshness of forest in rain, and the knight's personal musk. Ea dug her nose in under Petra's chin and pressed her lips against the woman's neck, cherishing the warmth and safety she felt, squeezed against the warming metal and leather covering her beloved.

Vaguely, behind the sound of Petra's heart and slightly heightened breathing, Ea detected the door opening and closing again. There was a brief commotion, as if they were suddenly going about ordering everything out there, and then someone spoke.

"Abbess, what an honor. What brings you here?"

Ea could hear feet shuffling closer to the area she was in, and quietly separated herself from Petra. "I need sister Magoria's presence in the hospital, sister Sophia."

"As you wish, abbess," said Sophia. Even Ea could detect the annoyance in that reply. But the abbess commanded them all as she wished.

Ea had picked up the peeler again and was quietly working away at the last few potatoes, with Petra having picked up a dry sponge to get the appearance of being there to clean her armor. The abbess was half-blind, after all. She would most likely be unable to see whether the sponge was wet or dry.

"Sister Magoria? You heard me out there. Get going, they need you in the hospital."

Ea put down the potato she was working on, trying to find an excuse to stay in the kitchen with Petra. "Abbess, I am nearly done here. Can it wait just a few minutes?"

"Life does not wait for anyone, priestess. There are injured people in the hospital that need treating. Sister Sophia can finish for you here."

Ea knew she would pay for that one somehow, but straightened and responded respectfully. "Yes, abbess. I will leave immediately."

As she hurried off, Ea could hear the abbess sourly questioning Petra's presence. The knights were nominally under her command as well, but in practice they were the responsibility of the knight-captain. Ea closed the door behind her, hoping that Petra would escape the scene without incident or a report to the captain. She opened and closed her fingers as she rushed towards the hospital, working off the arousal that Petra's presence had built up. Mentally, she again cursed the old abbess.

Several bruised and bloody men took up the row of cots along one wall of the rectangular, long hospital room. Two of the five had been stabbed as well, and Ea was assigned to one of them. Before she had arrived, some thoughtful soul had given him a mix of alcohol and sedatives. He ws barely conscious when she arrived, and somehow combined the unattractive elements of both the drunken and the messy sleeper in one. Probably in his thirties and overweight enough to form a few extra chins as he laid there and bubbled saliva between half-opened lips, Ea hesitated to touch him. But in spite of his harmless demeanor, he had an ugly-looking gash in his side.

The weapons used in bar fights were never clean. The blood from the wound had undoubtedly cleaned it to some degree, but she would have to disinfect the cut regardless, and that meant touching this stinky interruption. They always smelled like piss and vomit and sour sweat, and this one was no exception. Ea wrinkled her nose as she held an absorbent piece of cloth against the wound to better be able to see what she was to do. The half delirious man grunted.

Ea wrinkled her nose even more when she had a real look at the wound. It was unclean, and while the man's fat had saved him from a lot of the damage the wound could have done, it would leave a scar. A bad one. She sighed and picked up the bottle on the small stand next to the cot, uncorking the lid and pouring some of the nearly transparent liquid onto another piece of cloth. Alcohol.

Despite the drunk's sedated state, he still moaned in discomfort when she held the cloth against raw meat and fat, but she did not care. This disgusting man and his pointless scuffle in a pointless bar had kept her from uniting with Petra for more than a minute. She removed the now bloody cloth and threw it on the stand, next to the first.

"Stupid drunks."

One of the other sisters looked up from the man she was treating, her eyes disapproving at Ea's obviously sullen comment, even if she might not have heard the words of the low mumble. Ea cut open the man's shirt with a fairly dull knife, tearing as much as she sliced, creating room to bandage him. Seeing what she was about to do and knowing that she would need help, the obviously critical sister came over to help push the drunk onto his side.

Ea sutured the wound as nicely as she could, but it would still leave an ugly and probably itchy scar on the man for the rest of his life. Which would probably be short, if he got into many of these kinds of fights. She sighed, and picked up a thick cotton pad, placing it against the wound. Her fellow sister held it in place while Ea found the gauze, placing it carefully against the middle of the cotton pad. She tightened the bandage, gritting her teeth.

Tightened too much, she realized too late, her thoughts having slipped back to the interruption. The cotton slipped, and the bandage went straight into the wound. The sedated man yelped in pain, and most of the conscious people in the room looked over. Her cheeks flushed with both anger and embarrassment. Ea looked around, first to the slowly writhing drunk, and then to the sister staring at her with accusing eyes.

"Go fetch a new bandage," hissed the woman.

Ea bowed her head to hide her livid expression and stormed to the back of the hospital where the supply room was. More a large closet than an actual room, there was barely enough space for someone to stand inside with all the prepared medical supplies stacked on shelves and from floor to ceiling. Ea opened and closed her hands, her knuckles white as she squeezed her hands into fists. Thinking herself out of earshot of the other nurse-sisters, she picked up a box of bandages by the edge and threw it at the shelf opposite the door.

The shelf, unfortunately, was either overfilled or softened by age. The box not just banged against the various ointments and containers, it spilled bandages everywhere, causing valuable medicine-filled pottery to go flying towards the floor. The staccato of shattering clay was far more audible than gauze spilling here and there, and it did not last long until a worried sister flung the door to the supply room open. Several worried people, priestesses and patients both, flocked around her. It took only a few seconds for an accusatory whisper to spread through the small congregation.

The low murmur was only interrupted when the head nurse pushed her way through, staring with judgmental eyes at the perplexed sister in the middle of the commotion: Ea. She took a hold of the guilty priestess' robe and dragged her from the room, leaving behind a mess of cloth, shattered pottery and various liquids on the floor. The nurse instructed someone to clean it up in a curt tone, and then turned her attention on Ea, holding the girl's shoulders to make her look straight ahead.

"What is the matter with you, girl? What is the matter with you?" She shook Ea. "What is the matter with you?"

Ea did not answer, keeping her head bowed and her eyes downcast. The head nurse did not seem to interpret this as anything other than shocked guilt. She stopped questioning, at least.

"Go to your chamber, and stay there. I don't want to see you outside your door until prayer tomorrow morning." With that, she released Ea's shoulders and turned to organize the cleaning and the further treatment of the patients.

Ea had fought to keep her eyes closed or hidden from the nurse. She was both shocked and angry. Shocked at what her lapse of control had caused, angry that she was now denied from seeing Petra with even greater certainty than before. They would not even be able to share a few words during communal dinner, now. She cast a seething glance at the drooling, half-naked drunk she had been treating, then stormed out the hospital.

Ea alternately paced back and forth in her small, square room and rocked while sitting on the edge of the creaking bed. The disciplinary rules were clear. So far, she had gotten off easy. Her little tantrum in the supply closet had destroyed perhaps three weeks of work on preparing this medicament or that.

It had ensured that she would not be seeing any more of Petra for the rest of the day, unless she wanted to risk getting expelled from the temple. Possibly excommunicated if they were discovered, too, but that had always been a risk. They both carried that burden with them. In fact, risking discovery had become a game of sorts; tempting fate and flirting with their livelihood in a way perhaps not foreign to Ea, but definitely foreign to Petra.

The afternoon passed, and so did the evening. Ea tried to find peace in writing in her diary, or in studying the holy text. Specifically, she searched it for any mention that physical relationships between the clergy were prohibited. And, like the last seventeen times she had performed this search, she had found nothing. And like the last seventeen times, she also knew that what the holy text said, or did not say, on this matter was irrelevant. The mortal servants of the goddess had all agreed that carnal relationships between those directly engaged in serving the church and the goddess were forbidden, and were to be punished with excommunication if discovered.

Ea sighed and closed the book, listening to the pitter-patter of feet outside. The other priestesses were returning to their chambers for evening prayer and rest. In a few moments, the heavy door to the abbess' room would close, and that would signal that everyone who was not to stay up through the night to do one or another duty had gone to bed. Ea waited with baited breath, thinking she heard a creak that could be the door.

The silence in her room was interrupted by a muted clank of oak and hinges. The abbess had retired to her room. The day was now over, and whatever chance of meeting up with Petra there had been was now irrevocably gone.

To Ea's surprise and shock, there was a light knocking on her door. She swallowed, not really sure what to do. The light knock repeated, and ensured that the girl's heart was lodged solidly in her throat, hammering away. Who would come to visit her now? The head nurse? It would be highly unusual to discipline her further at this late an hour.

Very carefully, Ea pulled the door open, so as to prevent it from creaking and revealing her breach of protocol. No one was outside. She pulled the door open further and cast a furtive glance up and down the quiet, mostly dark hallway. There were only a few sconces here, and only a few of those were lit. They were for the benefit of the guard outside the abbess' room. Ea angled her head and narrowed her eyes. The guard was a crusader. Highly unusual. It was-

"Petra!" Ea's surprised whisper pierced the silence of the hall easily.

The knight glanced left and seemed to catch sight of the brown-haired girl peeking out of her room. The guards were forbidden from speaking to anyone at night other than their fellow crusaders and superiors. Rather than respond, the knight waved Ea over. She swallowed, glancing the other way uncertainly. She could still be wrong. It could be one of the other female warriors. She could be signing her own death warrant. Excommunication. Whatever.

Breathing in and steeling herself, Ea opened her door fully. She had kicked off her sandals to allow for quieter walking on the stone, but each step made her suck in air through gritted teeth. The rock was polished by many thousands of steps over hundreds of years. It was not sharp, but icy cold. She pulled the door to her chamber shut and tip-toed closer to the knight, squinting to try and catch a good outline of the woman's features in the dim light.

The crusader cast a glance around the corner to the dining hall, seemingly watching for anyone who might interrupt. Then, turning to face Ea, a smile spread over her features. The shift in position showed Ea the shaved side of the knight's head. It was Petra. The last few steps were covered not on tippy toes, but in a few bounding steps. They united in an embrace, with Petra already quietly shushing Ea, though the warrior was smiling happily regardless.

Ea still loved the armor, no matter how much it might gnaw or be uncomfortable to hug. There was a solidity and safety to it, to feeling plated arms wrap around her, that she adored. Perhaps it was the secret dream of being a damsel rescued by a knight in shining armor, perhaps it was simply an appreciation for the strong and durable. She did not know, and did not care, breathing in the crusader's leather, metal and fresh forest scent. Their eyes met, each shimmering in the faint light, and then their lips collided.

Having been apart since their brief meet in the kitchen was too long. Ea could feel it. It was as if an ache was being eased by Petra's breath and heartbeat, by being held against the rough surcoat. She tried to press deeper kisses against her partner's lips, but the knight held her off gently but decisively.

"Now's... Not the time, Ea," she whispered. "There's people right around the corner. They could hear us any moment."

That was, of course, exactly the wrong thing to say to a frustrated priestess with a tendency to fly in the face of authority. Even more so when said girl had an exhibitionist streak. Ea knew that Petra was not really trying to deter her. They were playing the same game as always, and in some small way, she hated that the knight knew her that well. In another way, she loved that Petra played along. Pushed her into digging both of them deeper. Ea pressed a demanding kiss to the crusader's lips, and then separated herself from the embrace.

"You'd better be quiet, then," said Ea. She smiled mischievously as her right index finger traversed down the knight's armored, leather-covered chest. "Very, very quiet..."

Ea's hands dwelled for a moment a t the knight's sides where she attempted to arrange Petra so that her pelvis was thrust forward while her shoulders remained glued to the wall next to the abbess' door. The crusader only sluggishly complied to this. The real catalyst was the slight, continuous sound and shifting of clothes that occurred when Ea's fingers crossed from Petra's torso and onto the plating covering her pelvis and hip joints.

For mobility's sake, there were relatively large gaps here that were hidden unless one was directly beneath the knight. Ea was not, but had experience with how the armor could be dismantled piecemeal. This was one piece that she had worked more than once. Her slender fingers hooked into straps and unclasped metal hooks, and pretty soon, she could lift the metal plate covering Petra's groin away, leaving a triangular opening into dark brown, clearly well-worn leather trousers.

"This really isn't a good idea," said Petra.

Ea manipulated the buttons open, laying the top of some very practical, unexciting grey underpants bare. It was like unwrapping a gift, in a sense. A gift she gave Petra and herself both. She wet her lips and glanced to either side, but knew very well that their only chance to hide in time if someone came by now was Petra seeing the person in time. Even so, doing something this illicit made her need to look around.

With quaking fingers, the priestess dug into Petra's underpants and found what she was looking for, her fingers deftly beginning to curl as they dug deeper. With a coquettish sigh, Ea flexed her right arm and started to haul the elbow-thick cockshaft free from the musky confines of Petra's armor. At first, merely the base was visible. The feeling of the soft skin covering the hardening beast was new again in a sense. Having been without it for a month, it was almost as if they were discovering each other again. Ea would have liked that discovery to be more lusty and desperate, but the interruption in the kitchen had prevented that. Now, she had to do a little convincing first.

It did not take long for her to work the behemoth shaft free. She leaned in and took a deep breath through her nose, catching the scent of musk, sweat, soap and seed. A freeing signal of happiness and safety, and satisfaction. Ea's lips finally grazed the widening, pumping shaft. It had grown both in girth and length while she had indulged in her heavy breaths, and she could feel the heat of the cockhead that now lodged under her chin. The half-hard girlcock nestled against her jawline and seemed to insistently push upwards even then, clearly not satisfied with its current place in life.

Petra let out a sigh that was midway between impatience and dissatisfaction, and Ea knew that she did not have too long to move on to the next step. Even so, she let herself enjoy the magnificence of Petra's physical presence for a little longer. There was a hint of muscle behind all the curled and messy clothing and armor pushed aside, and there was a primal heat coming off the knight's fat shaft that finally made Ea bow her head down and press her lips against the wide pillar of hard flesh.

With one hand wrapped halfway around the crusader's beefy cock to stroke, the other sought out those well-proportioned balls, lifting them free from the confines of the by-now useless underpants. While weighing and massaging Petra's nuts to the sound of uncomfortably pleased sighs, Ea's lips moved downwards, finding the ridge of the woman's cockhead. Her lips suctioned shut around it, and for a while, she just brushed her tongue up and down.

Eventually, she moved down the broad cocktip further still, kissing a small circle around the very tip before letting her lips envelop it. It was only at this point that she felt some form of cooperation from the crusader, feeling a metal-gloved hand settle on top of her head along with an encouraging if somewhat strained mumble. Even with her lips widening around the large shaft, she could not stop her lips from creasing into a smile. There was something so satisfying about leading Petra astray time after time.

The hand on her head was, of course, only a sort of reinforcement. 'You're doing good,' it seemed to say. No more. The rest was up to her, and with experience, she had learned what to do. Rather than try to just slide the crusader's mammoth log of a cock down her throat in one go, she instead worked at it gradually, dipping a little deeper with each gyrating stroke, her lips soon pried apart as far as they could go as they repeatedly and insistently ground over the ridge of the knight's cock-crown.

Even in the middle of her fluid moves, Ea had time to look up and see the effect she was having. One of Petra's hands was still nominally holding her head in place, but the other hand held across the knight's mouth to prevent any of the louder sighs of pleasure from escaping and finding ears that were not supposed to hear. Every now and again, Petra looked round the corner as if keeping track of someone. Ea did not care.

Clingy drool covered a larger and larger part of the crusader's massive shaft, and Ea even experimented with shoving what she could down her throat. It was not much, and she had to be careful so as to not break into a coughing fit when withdrawing. The clergy was not generally allowed in the halls at night. There was no written rule, of course, but you would be looked into. In this case, both of them would be looked into. And as intoxicating as it was to be with Petra, Ea still did not particularly want to be thrown out.

For several long minutes, she bopped back and forth, the hand lifting the knight's hefty nutsack gyrating automatically as she worked back and forth over Petra's thick cockhead, tongue occasionally curling around what she could of the large shaft, but most of the time simply grinding against the underside of the lazily curving, broad dick. She knew what was to come, however. Knew how Petra reacted when approaching orgasm.

The knight lowered the hand from her mouth and instead curled it around Ea's head, grimacing and gritting her teeth to keep the louder groans back. Nothing could halt either of their heavy breathing, but the large adjoining room was decorated enough that breathing sounds were likely to get lost and absorbed. Ea adjusted the position of her hands to lay on top of the plating covering Petra's thighs, in a place where she could tap out when needed. It had not been needed the last many times.

Petra launched into a meticulous and rhythmic series of superficial thrusts, more or less just taking over for Ea's motions for a while. It was only a prelude, however. They both knew it. They halted briefly to shift halfway around, parking the priestess against the wall next to the door and the plunging crusader in her way. Ea's head was more held in place than actively pushed against the wall, and she was glad. The full weight of not just Petra's muscled form but also the bulky armor came down on her.

It took another minute for the heavily breathing pair to reach a culmination. Petra started to push deeper, to dip the fat head of her cock into the girl's throat before withdrawing. She did not give Ea time to cough or complain before the behemoth shaft sank in again, and again. Soon enough, as her beefy cock hammered in, a clear outline of dick presented itself on Ea's neck. Even if someone had been observing them in that moment, though, all they would have seen would have been the crusader's rapid, needy thrusts against a mostly hidden priestess' face.

At last, Petra pushed all the way in, her saliva-dripping, heavy balls at once resting against Ea's chin and rising as the knight's body spasmed in beginning orgasm. Above Ea, above the heat, sweat and powerful scent, she could hear shaky breathing as the crusader leaned against the rough stone wall, hands holding the girl in place and hilted to the very root of that mammoth shaft.

The release was needy and copious, as if Petra had not once taken care of herself in the intermediate month. She twisted slowly, rising to her toes in the armor and then settling down again as churning, molten loads of powerful cream rose up and hammered through the widened, steely shaft and then into Ea's throat. Though most of those large loads easily splurged down into the girl's stomach, a little overflow could not be avoided, and pretty soon some fat, wide droplets of sperm flowed out around the pumping cockshaft and down to Ea's chin. She simply remained on her knees against the wall, brow furrowed, trying to maintain concentration, trying to hold her body back from panicking at the lack of breath.

When Petra pulled back in one long, swift move, Ea could not stop a heaving gasp for breath escaping. She would have held her breath then to hear if the sound had been picked up by anyone, but could not. She needed air. With one hand still resting fondly on the side of the priestess' head, Petra instead peeked around the corner. Ea glanced up and saw the knight worried, but not panicked.

"Nh-Nothing?"

"Nothing," said Petra. She angled her head and smiled apologetically down at the silently breathing priestess. "I'm, uh-"

"Shh," said Ea.

She rose, supporting herself against the coarse wall, and wiped her chin of both saliva and seed. The robe needed washing anyway. After casting a rather uncaring look at the corner, she took a hold of Petra's surcoat and pulled her in the direction of the quiet and infinitely more private room that the priestess slept in normally.

"I don't know..."

"We'll be gone for twenty minutes. It'll be fine."

"Eh..."

Petra complained and hesitated verbally, but she was still letting herself be pulled along, not even having bothered to cover up her crotch. It was far from over, but it was as if the discipline whipped into the knight still struggled with her emotions even at a point where she had long since broken the rules. Ea halted, turned, and leaned in to kiss the knight, her fingers trailing over the close-shaved side of Petra's head. It felt funny. Ticklish and very stiff. She chuckled into the crusader's kiss, and then withdrew.

"Come -on- Petra."

That, it seemed, was the magic sequence of words. The knight's resistance melted away, and she let herself be guided back to the priestess' quiet, dark and sparsely furnished room. The spartan room did not matter. The fact that it had a bed mattered.

It seemed the Petra's subdued nature dissipated once she was out of immediate public eye. The crusader pushed the door to Ea's room shut behind her, and then followed along with the priestess' tug on her surcoat. When they arrived at the bed, however, tables turned. The knight pushed Ea against the wooden frame, causing her to double over and land in the tumbled sheets with a surprised, eager squeal. So as to not cause the rickety bed to collapse under them, Petra set to work removing all the armor and clothing she could relatively quickly. Half a minute later, with Ea's help, she was covered only in trousers that clung to her hips and a damp, grey-blue shirt. That was enough.

With a barely subdued roar, the knight threw herself onto the bed, on top of Ea, heedless of the sharp, complaining whine that the old woodwork gave off at the sudden addition of weight. Ea had, while Petra removed her armor, removed her robe and was wearing nothing but a coy smile as she mock-wrestled with the far larger, far stronger crusader, inevitably ending up stuck below her, arms locked behind her and a fat, pulsing shaft resting unevenly against her firm rump. She wriggled a little, feeling the would-be invader rolling against her skin to settle down between her cheeks, curling her toes.

Petra, it seemed, had other plans. Having held the girl down against the white sheets for a short while, she grasped Ea's hands by her wrists and lifted them, gathering them in one fist, using the other to prop the priestess up on a pile of both pillows and bunched up sheet, presenting her near-dripping sex for easy access. With that same hand, the knight guided her beefy shaft forward, the fat cockhead smearing against Ea, mixing fluids.

Before launching into any sort of hurried, hard thrusting, the knight made sure to have a firm hold of the priestess' arms, one in each hand, tugging occasionally on them. Ea felt the strain in her shoulders, felt their heat, sweat, saliva and seed absorb more and more in the previously pure sheets, but did not care. The creaking of the bed as they feverishly maneuvered was the only thing that penetrated her mind, but even that was only a distant concern behind the all-encompassing need to be taken hard.

Ea closed her teeth around a bulge in the sheets, pulling it upwards with her as Petra tugged her arms back. A yelping moan disappeared into the already stained cloth as the crusader's fat shaft plunged halfway into the girl's quivering, constricting cunt, the broad, swollen head smearing up against the priestess' cervix. She let out another, more tortured moan as jolts of pain lanced through her to be replaced with a more steady, all-pervasive bruising pressure. She could feel the knight bucking and rutting, struggling with the biological impulse to ram in to the hilt.

When Petra's pull on her arms increased and her shoulders protested at the strain, Ea dug her head into the sheets as best she could. Her breath made them sweltering in seconds, but it was the only thing she could do to hide her pained whimpers. Petra had, it seemed, found some way to tone her own noises down as well. All Ea could detect was the rhythmic creak of the wood-framed bed as the knight rutted thrusted.

Another hard tug, and then another, both coinciding with a forceful thrust forward, weakened her inner defenses. This was not the first time that Petra's massive size and her at times only barely-controlled instincts threatened to invade Ea's sanctity entirely, but this time it truly felt as if the crusader's beefy shaft was making progress. Each groan, each snap for breath accompanied a near-brutal slam-fuck.

Finally, in a moment that was over too quickly for Ea to truly experience it, it happened. She was invaded, the knight's fat dick pummeling through the protesting, hesitantly widening opening of her cervix, breaching her sacred core. Petra sank in to the root of her shaft in a single thrust, those fat, musky balls smacking up against Ea with some force as her previously flat front bulged with the light outline of the crusader's towering, girthy cock.

Without thinking, she let go of the saliva-dripping piece of the sheets between her teeth and let out an uncomprehending, pleasure-tinged moan of pain. Not loud enough to go through the stone walls, but certainly loud enough that the door would not hold it in. Neither of the two seemed to care one bit, the desperate, hazy warmth of lust having descended.

Ea, looking back on such moments, thought them true and beautiful. Their only concern was each other. It was a sort of animalistic, carnal love. The need to be close, to rut or be rutted. Everything else but the heat, the need and the immediate sensory inputs of sweat, cloth and the other's body fell away. Even the increasing creak of the bed fell away as Petra, in the span of three swift, skewering thrusts launched into a demanding pace, her grasp of the priestess' arms so hard now that her knuckles whitened.

Suspended in the air by the knight's strength and filled to the point of bulging with pumping, fat meat, Ea could only curl her fingers around Petra's wrists and curl her toes. She held on as best she could, trying to push back against the jackhammer rhythm, but could not keep up. She could only rock and jostle backwards and forwards, clenching and gasping unevenly in both shock and building, cresting pleasure. The weight of the knight's balls smacking against her body was enough to send coaxing, cresting jolts of pleasure through her.

While Petra still slam-fucked into the poor girl's innermost, her womb, Ea's eyes rolled upwards in small jerks, her previously coherent moans losing any sense of coordination. Her body flexed and tensed, arms thrashing as best they could while in the knight's grip. Hard, powerful waves of pleasure lashed through her with almost explosive force, her body attempting to lock down around the maddeningly thick shaft pounding so deeply into her. She strained for a moment against the mind-conquering pleasure as if to try and beg Petra to slow down, to hold her, but could not gather the presence to do anything but let out uneven, tense, almost choked moans as the climax rolled on, and on.

It was clear, when she came down, still writhing and jostling in Petra's grip, that her convulsing and rhythmic contractions had milked and encouraged the furiously thrusting crusader to the point of near-orgasm. Though she was exhausted and shaking with weakness from orgasm, Ea only lowered her head and accepted the knight's needy pounding, glancing down at her flat belly. Each time Petra's heavy, churning balls slapped against her, the fat, cylindrical outline of dick pushed halfway up her stomach. She had a desire to reach down and play with it, but could not, still suspended by the crusader's lustful strength.

Finally letting go of discipline and restraint, Petra released Ea's wrists and instead moved down to take hold of the girl's waist. In that iron grip, for but a moment, the priestess felt the real power, weight and need behind the knight's ramming thrusts, each impact against her form pushing her further forward, scrunching the damp sheets up. Once again, Ea clenched her teeth around the white cloth to suppress the gasps emerging with each of Petra's reaming hiltings.

It was only a short, feral interlude. Ea could clearly feel her knight's transition from needy breeder-beast to pleasure-hunting human. The rutting, brutal thrusts became erratic and depth-seeking, and then almost stopped, the woman's fat shaft only halfway in when Ea realized that Petra was holding her breath, tensed and in the beginning of orgasm. It was all the crusader could do to hilt herself as her body convulsed and rhythmically pulsed, those hefty balls rising against the girl's form as they began to dole out a second, vast, life-giving load.

Though her body still mechanically thrusted, Petra leaned forward, soon coming to rest against Ea's back. The first thick, filling rope of fat seed splattered into the priestess' womb in the exact moment where she felt the crusader's teeth gently close around her shoulder, perhaps in a effort to stop the very audible groans of tense pleasure.

Petra's body continued to flex rhythmically against Ea, each heavy contraction sending another vast, bloating load into the girl's womb. She imagined her stomach developing a bulge, and then an actual dome, so much potent, viscous and sweltering spunk was unloaded in her as the knight rocked back and forth. Ea could not look down to see it, and her hands were occupied with grasping the bed to steady herself against the repeating flood wave of thick fucksludge.

Ea felt very clearly the lazy rivulets of seed running from her filled sex and down her thighs, each as clingy as the other. If she had been able to close and open her thighs, she was convinced that a spider's web of dangling seed-ropes would have formed. As it was, she was still pried apart by the slowly withdrawing knight's fat cockshaft.

They rolled onto their sides when Petra finally pulled back and relaxed, trying to calm their breathing to detect if anyone had heard the muted concert of lust. There were no steps, and they could not hear any breathing, heavy or not, but their own. Ea swallowed, then turned her head to awkwardly meet Petra's lips.

"You're not... Leaving any time soon, are you?"

"Four days," said Petra.

"Plenty of time," said Ea. After a moment, she added: "You... You should get back out there. Someone will come by and wonder."

"Let them. At least for another few minutes."

Ea felt a kiss against her damp neck, and smiled.


End file.
